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fhft SeasWe Li6raf\% PoekefEi!?Ron^rssne!WMl^?l!^^^ annym. 

ghted ISH 6 QeorgeMuuro— Entered at tbe Fust Office at York at second olasarateft- June 14, IwQ 




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The Heiress of Hilldrop; 

OR, 

THE ROMANCE OF A YOUNG GIRL. 

By GIIARLOTTB M. BRAEME, 

Author of “ Dora Thorne.''' 

Complete in Seaside Library (Pocket Edition), No. 741, 
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The Chaplet of Pearls 


OR, 

THE WHITE AND BLACK RIBAUMONT. 


BY 

./ 

CHARLOTTE M. YONGE. 


FIRST HALF. 



(TlAYlSie;-:;' 




NEW YORK! 

GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 
17 TO S7 Vandewatbb Street. 


CHARLOTTE M. YONOE^S WORKS 

CONTAINED IN THE SEASIDE LIBRARY (POCKET EDITION): 

NO. PRICE. 

247 The Armourer’s Prentices 10 

275 The Tliree Brides 10 

535 Henrietta’s Wish 10 

563 The Two Sides of the Sliield 20 • 

640 Nuttie’s Father 20 

665 The Dove in the Eagle’s Nest 20 

666 My Young Alcides 20 

739 The Caged Lion 20 

742 Love and Life 20 

790 The Chaplet of Pearls; or, The White and Black Ri- 

baumont. First half 20 

790 Tkc Chaplet of Pearls; or, The White and Black Ri- 

baumont. Second half 20 


PREFACE. 


It is the fashion to call every story controversial that 
deals with times when controversy or a war of religion was 
raging; but it should be remembered that there are some 
which only attempt to portray human feelings as affected 
by the events that such warfare occasioned. “ Old Mor- 
tality and Woodstock are not controversial tales, and 
the Chaplet of Pearls " is so quite as little. It only 
aims at drawing certain scenes and certain characters as 
the convulsions of the sixteenth century may have affected 
them, ? d is, in fact, like all historical romance, the shap- 
ing of t' conceptions that the imagination must necessarily 
form whf'u dwelling upon the records of history. That 
faculty V hich might be called the passive fancy, and might 
almost be described in Portia^s song — 

“ It is engendered in the eyes, 

By reading fed — and there it dies ” — 

that faculty, I say, has learned to feed upon character and 
incident, and to require that the latter should be effective 
and exciting. Is it not reasonable to seek for this in the 
days when such things were not infrequent, and did not 
imply exceptional wickedness or misfortune in those engaged 
in them? This seems to me one plea for historical novel, 
to which I would add the opportunity that it gives for study 
of the times and delineation of characters. Shakespeare^ s 
Henry IV. and Henry V., ScotPs Louis XL, Manzoni^s 
Federigo Borromeo, Bulwer^s Harold, Jameses Philip 
Augustus, are all real contributions to our comprehension of 
the men themselves, by calling the chronicles and memoirs 
into action. True, the picture can not be exact, and is 
sometimes distorted — nay, sometimes praisewortliy efforts 
at correctness in the detail take away whatever might have 
been life-like in the outline. Yet, acknowledging all this. 


VI 


PREFACE. 


I must still plead for the tales that presumptuously deal 
with days gone by, as enabling the young to realize history 
vividly — and, what is still more desirable, requiring an 
effort of the mind which to read of modern days does not. 
The details of Millais’s Inquisition or of his Huguenot may 
be in error in spite of all his study and diligence, but they 
have brought before us forever the horrors of the auto-da- 
fe, and the patient, steadfast heroism of the man who can 
smile aside his wife’s endeavor to make him tacitly betray 
his faith to save his life. Surely it is well, by pen as by 
picture, to go back to the past for figures that will stir the 
heart like these, even though the details be as incorrect as 
those of the revolt of Liege or of La Ferrette, in “ Quentin 
Durward ” and “ Anne of Geierstein.-’^ 

Scott, however, willfully carved history to suit the pur- 
poses of his story; and in these days we have come to feel 
that a story must earn a certain amount of credibility by 
being in keeping with established facts, even if striking 
events have to be sacrificed, and that the order of time must 
be preserved. In Shakespeare’s days, or even in Scott’s, 
it might have been possible to bring Henry HI. and his 
mignions to due punishment within the limits of a tale be- 
ginning with the Massacre of St. Bartholomew; but in 18f>8 
the broad outlines of tragedy must be given up to keep 
within the bounds of historical verity. 

How far this has been done, critics better read than my- 
self must decide. I have endeavored to speak fairly, to the 
best of my ability, of such classes of persons as fell in with 
the course of the narrative, according to such lights as the 
memoirs of the time afford. The convent is scarcely a class 
portrait, but the condition of it seems to be justified by 
hints in the Port Eoyal memoirs, respecting Maubuisson 
and others which Mere Angelique reformed. The intoler- 
ance of the ladies at Montauban is described in Mme. 
Duplessis-Mornay’s life; and if Berenger’s education and 
opinions are looked on as not sufficiently alien from Eoman 
Catholicism, a reference to Froude’s ‘‘ History of Queen 
Elizabeth ” will show both that the customs of the elder 
English Church were still kept up by many of the country 
clergy, and likewise that a broad distinction was made by 
the better-informed among the French between Calvinisiii 
and Protestantism or Lutheranism, in which they included 
Anglicanism. Tlie minister Garden I do not consider as 


PREFACE. Vii 

representing liis class. He is a possibility modified to seiTe 
the purposes of the story. 

Into historical matters, however, I have only entered so 
far as my story became involved with them. And here I 
have to apologize for a few blunders, detected too late for 
alteration even in the volumes. Sir Francis Walsingham 
was a young rising statesman in 1572, instead of the elderly 
sage he is represented ; his daughter Frances was a mere 
infant, and Sir Philip Sidney was not knighted till much 
later. For the rest, I have tried to show the scenes that 
shaped themselves before me as carefully as I could; though 
of course they must not be a presentiment of the times 
lliemselves, but of my notion of them. 

C. M. YONGE. 

Natemher 14£h, 1868. 


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THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


CHAPTER L 

THE BKIDAL OF THE WHITE AND BLACK. 

Small was the ring, and small in truth the finger; 

What then? the faith was large that dropped it down. 

Aubrey de Infant Bridal. 

Setting aside the consideration of the risk, the baby- 
weddings of the Middle Ages must have been very pretty 
sights. 

So the Court of France thought the bridal of Henri Be- 
renger Eustache de Ribaumont and of Marie Eustacie 
Rosalie de Ribaumont du Nid-de-Merle, when, amid the 
festivals that accompanied the signature of the treaty of 
Cateau-Camhresis, good-natured King Henri II. presided 
merrily at the union of the httle pair, whose united ages 
did not reach ten years. 

There they stood under the portal of Notre Dame, the 
little bridegroom in a white velvet coat, with puffed sleeves, 
slashed with scarlet satin, as were the short, also puffed, 
breeches meeting his long white knitted silk stockings some 
way above the knee; large scarlet rosettes were in his white 
shoes, a scarlet knot adorned his little sword, and his velvet 
cap of the same color bore a long white plume, and was en- 
circled by a row of pearls of priceless value. They are no 
other than that garland of pearls which, after a night of 
personal combat before the walls of Calais, Edward III. of 
England took from his helmet and presented to Sir Eus- 
tache de Ribaumont, a knight of Picardy, bidding him say 
everywhere that it was a gift from the King of England to 
the bravest of knights. 

The precious heir-looms were scarcely held with the re- 
spect due to an ornament so acquired. The manly garb 


10 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


for the first time assumed by his sturdy legs, and the ‘pos- 
session of die little sword, were evidently the most interest- 
ing parts of the affair to the youthful husband, who seemed 
to find in them his only solace for the weary length of the 
ceremony. He was a fine, handsome little fellow, fair and 
rosy, with bright blue eyes, and hair like shining flax, un- 
usually tall and strong-limbed for his age; and as he gave 
his hand to his little bride, and walked wndi her under a 
canopy up to kneel at the High Altar, for the marriage 
blessing and the mass, they looked like a full-grown couple 
seen through a diminishing glass. 

The little bride was perhaps a less beautiful child, but 
she had a splendid pair of black eyes, and a sweet little 
mouth, both set into the uncomprehending solemnity of 
baby gravity and contentment in fine clothes. In accord- 
ance with the vow indicated by her name of Marie, her 
dress was white and blue, turquois forget-me-nots bound 
the little lace veil on her dark chestnut hair, the bosom of 
her white satin dress was sprinkled with the same azure 
jetvel, and turquoises bordered every seam of the sweeping 
skirt with a train befitting a count’s daughter, and mean- 
dered in gorgeous constellations round the hem. The little 
thing lisped her own vows forth without much notion of 
their sense, and indeed was sometimes prompted by her 
bride-maid cousin, a pretty little girl a year older, who 
thrust in her assistance so glibly that the king, as well as 
others of the spectators, laughed, and observed that she 
would get herself married to the boy instead of her cousin. 

There was, however, to be no doubt nor mistake about 
Berenger and Eustacie de Eibaumont being man and wife. 
Every ceremony, religious or domestic, that could render a 
marriage valid, was gone through with real earnestness, 
although with infinite gayety, on the part of the court. 
Much depended on their union, and the reconcilement of 
the two branches of the family had long been a favorite 
scheme of King Henri II. 

Both alike were descended from Anselme de Eibaumont, 
renowned in the first Crusade, and from the brave Picard 
who had received the pearls; but, in the miserable anarchy 
of Charles VI. ’s reign, the elder brother had been on tlie 
Burgundian side — like most of the other nobles of Picardy 
— and had thus been brought into the English camji, 
where, regarding Henry V. as lawfully appointed to the 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


11 


succession, and much admiring him and his brother Bed- 
ford, he had become an ardent supporter of the English 
claim. He had married an English lady, and had received 
the grant of the castle of Leurre in Normandy by way of 
compensation for liis ancestral one of Ribaumont in 
Picardy, which had been declared to be forfeited by his 
treason, and seized by his brother. 

.This brother had always been an Armagnac, and had 
risen and thriven with his party — ^before the final peace be- 
tween France and England obliged the elder line to submit 
to Charles VII. Since that time there had been a perpetual 
contention as to the restitution of Chateau Ribaumont, a 
strife which under Louis XL had become an endless law- 
suit; and in the days of dueling had occasioned a good 
many insults and private encounters. The younger branch, 
or Black Ribaumonts, had received a grant from Louis XI. 
of the lands of Nid-de-Merle, belonging to an unfortunate 
Angevin noble, who had fallen under the royal displeasure, 
and they had enjoyed court favor up to the present genera- 
tion, when Henri II. , either from opposition to his father, 
instinct for honesty, or both, had become a warm friend to 
the gay and brilliant young Baron de Ribaumont, head of 
the white or elder branch of the family. 

The family contention seemed hkely to wear out of its 
own accord, for the Count de Ribaumont was an elderly 
and childless man, and his brother, the Chevalier de Ribau- 
mont, was, according to the usual lot of French juniors, a 
bachelor, so that it was expected that the whole inheritance 
would center upon the elder family. However, to the 
general surprise, the chevalier late in life married, and be- 
came the father of a son and daughter; but soon after cal- 
culations were still more thrown out by the birth of a little 
daughter in the old age of the count. 

Almost from the hour in which her sex was announced, 
the king had promised the Baron de Ribaumont that she 
should be the wife of his young son, and that all the pos- 
sessions of the house shoidd be settled upon the little couple, 
engaging to provide for the chevalier^s disappointed heir in 
some commandery of a religious order of knighthood. 

The baron^s wife was English. He had, when on a visit 
to his English kindred, entirely turned the head of the 
lovely Annora Walwyn, and finding that her father, one of 


12 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


the gravest of Tudor statesmen, would not hear of her 
breaking her engagement to the honest Dorset squire Mar- 
maduke Thistle wood, he had carried her off by a stolen 
marriage and coup de main, which, as her beauty, rank, 
and inheritance were all considerable, had won him great 
reputation at the gay court of Henri 11. 

Infants as the boy and girl were, the king had hurried 
on their marriage to secure its taking place in the life-time 
of the count. The countess had died soon after the birth 
of the little girl, and if the arrangement were to. take effect 
at all, it must be before she should fall under the guardian- 
ship of her uncle, the chevalier. Therefore the king had 
caused her to be brought up from the cottage in Anjou, 
where she had been nursed, and in person superintended 
the brilliant wedding. He himself led off the dance with 
the tiny bride, conducting her through its mazes with 
fatherly kindliness and condescension; but Queen Cath- 
erine, who was strongly in the interests of the Angevin 
branch, and had always detested the baron as her husband^s 
intimate, excused’ herself from dancing with the bride- 
groom. He therefore fell to the share of the Dauphiness 
Queen of Scots, a lovely, bright-eyed, laughing girl, who 
so completely fascinated the little fellow, that he convulsed 
the court by observing that he should not have objected to 
be married to some one like her, instead of a little baby like 
Eustacie. 

Amid all the mirth, it was not only the chevalier and 
the queen who bore displeased looks. In truth, both were 
too great adepts in court life to let their dissatisfaction ap- 
pear. The gloomiest face was that of him whose triumph 
it was — the bride-groom^ s father, the Baron de Ilibaumont. 
He had suffered severely from the sickness that prevailed 
in St. Quentin, when in the last August the Admiral de 
Coligny had been besieged there by the Spaniards, and all 
agreed that he had never been the same man since, either 
in health or in demeanor. When he came back from his 
captivity and found the king bent on crowning his return 
by the marriage of the children, he had hung back, spoken 
of scruples about such unconscious vows, and had finally 
only consented under stress of the personal friendship of 
the king., and on condition that he and his wife should at 
once have the sole custody of the little bride. Even then 
he moved about the gay scene with so distressed and morose 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


13 


an air that lie was evidently either nnder the influence of a 
scruple of conscience or of a foreboding of evil. 

No one doubted that it had been the latter, when tliree 
days later, Henri II., in the prime of his strength and 
height of his spirits, encountered young Des Lorges in the 
lists, received the splinter of a lance in his eye, and died 
two days afterward. 

No sooner were his obsequies over than the Baron de 
liibaumont set off with his wife and the little bridal pair for 
his castle of Leurre, in Normandy, nor was he ever seen at 
court again. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE SEPARATION. 

Parted without the least regret, 

Except that they had ever met, 

* * * * 

Misses, the tale that I relate. 

This lesson seems to carry: 

Choose not alone a proper mate, 

But a proper time to marry! 

CowPER, Pairing Time anticipated. 

I WILL have it! 

“ Thou shalt not have it!’^ 

“ Diane says it is mine.'’^ 

“ Diane knows nothing about it.^^ 

“ Gentlemen always yield to ladies. 

Wives ought to mind their husbands.^^ 

“ Then I will not be thy wife.^^ 

Thou canst not help it."’"’ 

“ I will. I will tell my father what Monsieur le Baron 
reads and sings, and then I know he will."’^ 

“ And welcome. 

Eustacie put out her lip, and began to cry. 

The husband and wife,^"* noweight and seven years old, 
were in a large room hung with tapestry, representing the 
history of Tobit. A great state bed, curtained with piled 
velvet, stood on a sort of dais at the further end;nhere 
was a toilet-table adorned with curiously shaped boxes, 
and colored Venetian glasses, and filagree pounce t-boxes, 
and with a small mirror whose frame was inlaid with gold 
and ivory. A large coffer, likewise inlaid, stood against the 


14 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


wall, and near it a cabinet, of Dutch worhmanshijL a com- 
bination of ebony, ivory, wood, and looking-glass, the center 
retreating, and so arranged that by the help of most ingen- 
ious attention to perspective and reflection, it appeared like 
the entrance to a magnificent miniature cinque-cento palace, 
with steps up to a vestibule paved in black and white loz- 
enges, and with three endless corridors diverging from it. 
So much for show; for use, this palace was a bewildering 
complication of secret drawers and pigeon-holes, all de- 
pending indeed upon one tiny gold key; but unless the use 
of that key were well understood, all it led to was certain 
outer receptacles of fragrant Spanish gloves, knots of rib- 
bon, and kerchiefs strewn over with rose leaves and laven- 
der. However, Eustacie had secured the key, and was now 
far beyond these mere superficial matters. Her youthful 
lord had just discovered her mounted on a chair, her small 
person decked out with a profusion of necklaces, jewels, 
bracelets, chains, and rings; and her fingers as well as they 
could under their stilfening load, were opening the very 
penetralia of the cabinet, the inner chamber of the hall, 
where lay a case adorned with the Eibaumont arms and 
containing the far-famed chaplet of pearls. It was almost 
beyond her reach, but she had risen on tip-toe, and was 
stretching out her hand for it, when he, springing behind 
her on the chair, availed himself of his superior lieight and 
strength to shut the door of this arcanum and turn the key. 
His mortifying permission to his wife to absent lierself 
arose from pure love of teasing, but the next moment he 
added, still holding his hand on the key — “ As to telling 
what my father reads, that would be treason. How shouldst 
thou know what it is?"’^ 

‘‘ Dost thou think every one is an infant but thyself?’^ 
But who told thee that to talk of my father ^s books 
would get him into trouble continued the boy, as they 
still stood together on the high heavy wooden chair. 

She tossed her pretty head, and pretended to pout. 

“ Was it Diane? I will know. Didst thou tell Diane ?’^ 
»■ Instead of answering, now that his attention to the key 
was.relaxed, Eustacie made a sudden dart, like a liitle wild 
cat, at the back of the chair and at the key. The chair 
overbalanced; Berenger cdught at the front drawer of the 
cabinet, which, unlocked by Eustacie, came out in his 
hand, and chair, children, drawer, and curiosities all went 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


15 


rolling over together on the floor with a hubbub that 
brought all the household together, exclaiming and scolding. 
Mme. de Kibaumont's displeasure at the rifling of her 
hoards knew no bounds; Eustacie, by way of defense, 
shrieked “ like twenty demons Berenger, too honorable 
to accuse her, underwent the same tempest; and at last 
both were soundly rapped over the knuckles with the long 
handle of madame^s fan, and consigned to two separate 
closets, to be dealt with on the return of M. le Baron, while 
madame returned to her embroidery, lamenting the absence 
of that dear little Diane, whose late visit at the chateau 
had been marked by such unusual tranquillity between the 
children. 

Berenger in his dark closet, comforted himself with the 
shrewd suspicion that his father was *so employed as not to 
be expected at home till supper-time, and that his mother^s 
wrath was by no means likely to be so enduring as to lead 
her to make complaints of the prisoners; and when he heard 
a trampling of horses in the court, he anticipated a speedy 
release and summons to show himself to the visitors. He 
waited long, however, before he heard the pattering of little 
feet; then a stool scraped along the floor, the button of 
his door was undone, the stool pushed back, and as he 
emerged, Eustacie stood before him with her finger to her 
lip. “ Chut, Berenger! It is my father and uncle, and 
Earcisse, and, oh! so many gendarmes. They are come 
to summon Monsieur le Baron to go with them to disperse 
the preche by the Bac de TOie. And oh, Berenger, is he 
not there?’ ^ 

“ I do not know. He went out with his hawk, and I do 
not think he could have gone anywhere else. Did they 
say so to my mother?” 

‘‘Yes; but she never knows. And oh, Berenger, Ear- 
cisse told me— ah, was it* to tease me? — that Diane has told 
them all they wanted to know, for that they sent her here 
on purpose to see if we were not all Huguenots.” 

“ Very likely, the little viper! Let me pass, Eustacie. 
I must go and tell my father. ” . 

“ Thou canst not get out that way; the court is full of 
men-at-arms. Hark, there’s Earcisse calling me. He will 
come after me.” 

There was not a moment to lose. Berenger flew along a 
corridor, and down a narrow winding stair, and across the 


16 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


kitchen; then snatching at the arm of a bov of his own age 
whom he met at the door, he gasped out, Come and help 
me catch Follet, Landry and still running across an 
orchard, he pulled down a couple of apples from the trees, 
and bounded into a paddock where a small rough Breton 
pony was feeding among the little tawny Norman cows. 
The animal knew his little master, and trotted toward him 
at his call of “ Follet, Follet. Now be a wise Follet, and 
play me no tricks. Thou and I, Follet, shall do good serv- 
ice, if thou wilt be steady.'’^ 

Follet made his advances, but with a coquettish eye and 
look, as if ready to start away at any moment. 

“ Soil, Follet. I have no bread for thee, only two apples; 
but, Follet, listen. There^s my heau pare the count, and 
the chevalier, all spite, and their whole troop of savage gen- 
darmes, come out to fall upon the poor Huguenots, who are 
doing no harm at all, only listening to a long dull sermon. 
And I am much afraid my father is there, for he went out 
with his hawk on his wrist, and he never does take Ysonde 
for any real sport, as thou and I would do, Follet. He says 
it is all vanity of vanities. But thouknow’st, if they caught 
him at the preche they would call it heresy and treason, and 
all sorts of horrors, and any way they would fall like de- 
mons on the poor Huguenots, Jacques and all — thine own 
Jacques, Follet. Come, be a loyal pony, Follet. Be at 
least as good as Eustacie. ” 

Follet was evidently attentive to this peroration, turning 
round his ear in a sensible attitude, and advancing his nose 
to the apples. As Berenger held them out to him, the boy 
clutched his shaggy forelock so effectually that the start 
back did not shake him off, and the next moment Berenger 
was on his back. 

“ And I, monsieur, what shall I do?^^ 

“ Thou, Landry? I know. Speed like a hare, lock the 
avenue gate, and hide the key. That will delay them a long 
time. Off now, Follet. 

Berenger and Follet understood one another far too well 
to care about such trifles as saddle and bridle, and off they 
^vent through green grassy balks dividing the fields, or 
across the stubble till, about three miles from the castle, 
they came to a narrow valley, dipping so suddenly between 
the hills that it could hardly have been suspected by one 
unaware of its locality, and’ the sides were dotted with 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


17 


copse-wood, which entirely hid the bottom. Berenger 
guided Jiis pony to a winding path that led down the steep 
side of the valley, already hearing the cadence of a loud, 
chanting voice, throwing out its sounds over the assembly, 
whence arose assenting hums over an undercurrent of sobs, 
as though the excitable hrench assembly were strongly 
affected. 

The thicket was so close that Berenger was almost among 
the congregation before he could see more than a passing 
glimpse of a sea of heads. Stout, ruddy, Norman peas- 
ants, and high white-capped women, mingled with a few 
soberly clad townsfolk, almost all with the grave, steadfast 
cast of countenance imparted by unresisted persecution, 
stood gathered round the green mound that served as a natu- 
ral pulpit for a Calvinist minister, who wore the dress of 
a burgher, but entirely black, ^o Berenger ^s despair, he 
was in the act of inviting his hearers to join with him in 
singing one of Marot^s psalms; and the boy, eager to lose 
not a moment, grasped the skirt of the outermost of the 
crowd. The man, an absorbed- looking stranger, merely 
said, “ Importune me not, child. 

‘‘ Listen,^^ said Berenger; “ it imports—’^ 

‘‘ Peace,^^ was the stern answer; but a Norman farmer 
looked round at that moment, and Berenger exclaimed. 

Stop the singing! The gendarmes. The psalm broke 
off; the whisper circulated; the words “ from Leurre were 
next conveyed from lip to lip, and, as it were in a moment, 
the dense human mass had broken up and vanished, steal- 
ing through the numerous paths in the brushwood, or along 
the brook, as it descended through tall sedges and bulrushes. 
The valley was soon as lonely as it had been populous : the 
pulpit remained a mere mossy bank, more suggestive of 
fairy dances than of Calvinist sermons, and no one re- 
mained on the scene save Berenger with his pony, Jacques 
the groom, a stout farmer, the preacher, and a tall thin 
figure in the plainest dark cloth dress that could be worn 
by a gentleman, a hawk on his wrist. 

Thou here, my boy!^^ he exclaimed, as Berenger came 
to his side; and as the little fellow replied in a few brief 
words, he took him by the hand, and said to the minister. 

Good Master Isaac, let me present my young son to you, 
who under Heaven hath been the means of saving many 
lives' this day. 


18 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


Maitre Isaac Garden, a noted preacher, looked kindly at 
the boy^’s fair face, and said, “ Bless thee, young sir. As 
thou hast been already a chosen instrument to save life, so 
mayest thou be ever after a champion of the truth/ ^ 

“ Monsieur le Baron, interposed Jacques, “ it were best 
to look to yourself. I already hear sounds upon the 
wind.^^ 

“ And you, good sir?” said the baron. 

“ I will see to him,” said the farmer, grasping him as a 
sort of property. ‘‘ Monsieur le Baron had best keep up 
the beck. Out on the moor there he may fly the hawk, 
and that will best divert suspicion. ” 

“Farewell, then,” said the baron, wringing the minis- 
ter’s hand, and adding, almost to himself, “ Alas! I am 
weary of these shifts!” and weary indeed he seemed, for as 
the ground became so steep that the beck danced noisily 
down its channel, he could not keep up the needful speed, 
but paused, gasping for breath, with his hand on his side. 
Berenger was off his pony In an instant, assuring Follet 
that it ought to be proud to be ridden by his father, and 
exhaling his own exultant feelings in caresses to the animal 
as it gallantly breasted the hill. The little hoy had never 
been so commended before! He loved his father exceeding- 
ly; but the baron, wliile ever just toward him, was grave 
and strict to a degree that the ideas even of the sixteenth 
century regarded as severe. Little Eustacie with her love- 
ly face, her irrepressible s^ucy grace and audacious coaxing, 
was the only creature to whom he ever showed much in- 
dulgence and tenderness, and even that seemed almost 
against his will and conscience. His son was always under 
rule, often blamed, and scarcely ever praised; but it was a 
hardy vigorous nature, and respectful love thrived under 
the system that would have crushed or alienated a different 
disposition. It was not till the party had emerged from the 
wood upon a stubble field, where a covey of partridges flew 
up, and to Berenger’s rapturous delight furnished a victim 
for Ysonde, that M. de Eibaumont dismounted from the 
pony and, walking toward home, called his son to his side, 
and asked him how he had learned tlie intentions of the 
count and the chevalier. Berenger explained how Eustacie 
had come to warn him, and also told what she had said of 
Diane de Eibaumont, who had lately, by her father’s re- 
quest, spent a few weeks at the chateau with her cousins. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAPLS. 


10 


My son/^ said the baron, it is hard to ask of babes 
caution and secrecy; but I must know from thee what thy 
cousin may have beard of our doings 

“ I can not tell, father, replied Berenger; ‘‘ we played 
more than we talked. Yet, monsieur, you will not be 
angry with Eustacie if I tell you what she said to me to- 
day?'^ 

Assuredly not, my son. 

She said that her father would take her away if ho 
knew what Monsieur le Baron read, and what he sung. ^ ^ 

Thou hast done well to tell me, my son. Thinkest 
thou that this comes from Diane, or from one of the serv- 
ants?'’'’ 

“ Oh, from Diane, my father; none of the servants 
would dare to say such a thing. 

It is as I suspected then,^^ said the baron. “That 
child was sent amongst us as a spy. Tell me, Berenger, 
had she any knowledge of our intended journey to Eng- 
land?’^ 

“ To England! But no, father, I did not even know it 
was intended. To England — to that Walwyn which my 
mother takes such pains to make us speak rightly. Are 
we, then, going 

“ Listen, my son. Thou hast to-day proved thyself 
worthy of trust, and tlmu shalt hear. My son, ere yet I 
knew the truth I was a reckless disobediei^ youth, and I 
bore thy mother from her parents in England without their 
consent. Since, by Heaven’s grace, I have come to a bet- 
ter mind, we have asked and obtained their forgiveness, and 
it has long been their desire to see again their daughter and 
her son. Moreover, since the accession of the present 
queen, it has been a land where the light is free to shine 
forth; and though I verily believe what Maitre Garden 
says, that persecution is a blessed means of grace, yet it is 
grievous to expose one’s dearest thereto when they are in 
no state to count the cost. Therefore would I thither con- 
vey you all, and there amid thy mother’s family would we 
02jenly abjure the en’ors in w^hich we have been nurtured. 
I have already sent to Paris to obtain from the queen- 
mother the necessary permission to take my family to visit 
thy grandfather, and it must now be our endeavor to start 
immediately on the receipt of the reply, before the cheva- 


20 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


lier^s information can lead to any liinderance or detention of 
Eustacie. 

“ Then Eustacie will go with us, monsieur 
Certainly. Nothing is more important than that her 
faith should be the same as yours! But discretion, my son; 
not a word to the little one.^^ 

And Landry, father? I had rather Landry went than 
Eustacie. And Follet, dear father, pray take him/'’ 

After M. de Eibaumont^s grave confidence tq his son 
and heir, he was a little scandalized at the comparative 
value that the boy’s voice indicated for wife, foster-brother, 
and pony, and therefore received it in perfect silence, which 
silence continued until they reached the chateau, where the 
lady met them at the door with a burst of exclamations: 

“ Ah, there you are, safe, my dear baron. I have been 
in despair. Here were the count and his brother come to 
call on you to join them in dispersing a meeting of those 
poor Huguenots, and they would not permit me to send out 
to call you in! I verily think they suspected that you were 
aware of it. ” 

M. de Eibaumont made no answer, but sat wearily down 
and asked for his little Eustacie. 

“ Little vixen!” exclaimed the baroness, ‘‘ she is gone; 
her father took her away with him. ” And as her husband 
looked extrer^jely displea^, she added that Eustacie had 
been meddling with her jewel cabinet and had been put in 
penitence. Her first impulse on seeing her father had been 
to cling to him and pour out her complaints, whereupon he 
had declared that he should take her away with him at 
once, and had in effect caused her pony to be saddled, and 
he had ridden away with her to his old tower, leaving his 
brother, the chevalier, to conduct the attack on the 
H ug ueno t conven ti cle. 

‘‘ He had no power or right to remove her,” said the 
baron. “ How could you let him do so in my absence? 
He had made over her wardship to me, and has no right to 
resume it!” 

Well, perhaps I might have insisted on his waiting till 
your return; but, you see, the children have never done 
anything but quarrel and fight, and always by Eustacie ’s 
fault; and if ever they are to endure each other, it must be 
by being separated now. ” 


THE CHAPLET OF PEA ELS. ' 21 

Madame/^ said the baron gravely, ‘‘you have done 
your utmost to ruin your son^s chances of happiness/^ 

That same evening arrived the king^s passport permit- 
ting the Baron de Ribaumont and his family to pay a visit 
to his wife^^s friends in England. The next morning the 
baron was summoned to speak to one of his farmers, a 
Huguenot, who had come to inform him that, through the 
network of intelligence kept up by the members of the per- 
secuted faith, it had become known that the Chevalier de 
Ribaumont had set off for court that night, and there was 
little doubt that his interference would lead to an immedi- 
ate revocation of the sanction to the journey, if to no 
severer measures. At best, the baron knew that, if his own 
absence were permitted, it would be only on condition of 
leaving his son in the custody of either the queen-mother 
or the count. It had become impossible to reclaim 
Eustacie. Her father would at once have pleaded that she 
was being bred up in Huguenot errors. All that could be 
done was to hasten the departure ere the royal mandate 
could arrive. A little Norman sailing vessel was moored 
two evenings after in a lonely creek on the coast, and into it 
stepped M. de Ribaumont, with his Bible, Marot^s Psalter, 
and Calving’s works, Berenger still tenderly kissing a lock 
of Follet^s mane, and madame mourning for the pearls, 
which her husband deemed too sacred an heir-loom to carry 
away to a foreign land. Poor jittle Eustacie, with her 
cousin Diane, was in the convent of Bellaise in Anjou. If 
any one lamented her absence, it was her father-in-law. 


CHAPTER HI. 

THE FAMILY COUHCIL. 

He counsels a divorce. 

Shakespeare, King Henry VIII. 

Ih the spring of the year 1572, a family council was 
assembled in Hurst Walwyn Hall. The scene was a wain- 
scoted oriel chamber closed off by a screen from the great 
hall, and fitted on two sides by presses of books, surmounted 
the one by a terrestrial, the other by a celestial globe, the 
first “ with the addition of the Indies ^ " in very eccentric 
geography, the second with enormous stars studding highly 


22 , THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 

grotesque figures;, regarded with great awe by most be- 
holders. 

A solid oaken table stood in the midst, laded with books 
and papers, and in a corner, near the open hearth, a 
carved desk, bearing on one slope the largest copy of the 
“ Bishops’ Bible;” on the other, one of the Prayer-book. 
The ornaments of the oaken mantel-piece culminated in a 
shield bearing a cross houtonnCey i. e., with trefoil termina- 
tions. It was supported between a merman with a whelk 
shell and a mermaid with a comb, and another like Siren 
curled her tail on the top of the gaping, baronial helmet 
above the shield, while two more upheld the main weight 
of the chimney-piece on either side of the glowing wood-fire. 

In the seat of honor was an old gentleman, white-haired, 
and feeble of limb, but with noble features and a keen, 
acute eye. This was Sir William, Baron of Hurst Walwyn, 
a valiant knight at Guingate and Boulogne, a statesman of 
whom Wolsey had been jealous, and a ripe scholar who had 
shared the friendship of More and Erasmus. The lady 
who sat opposite to him was several years younger, still up- 
right, brisk and active, though her hair was milk-white; 
but her eyes were of undimmed azure, and her complexion 
still retained a beauteous pink and white. She was highly 
educated, and had been the friend of Margaret Roper and 
her sisters, often sharing their walks in the bright Chelsea 
garden. Indeed, the musk-rose in her own favorite nook 
at Hurst Walwyn was cherished as the gift of Sir Thomas 
himself. 

Near her sat her sister, Cecily St. John, a professed nun 
at Romsey till her twenty-eighth year, when, in the disper- 
sion of convents, her sister’s home had received her. There 
had she continued, never exposed to tests of opinion, but 
pursuing her quiet course according to her Benedictine rule, 
faithfully keeping her vows, and following the guidance of 
the chaplain, a college friend of Bishop Ridley, and rejoic- 
ing in the use of the vernacular prayers and Scriptures. 
When Queen Mary had sent for her to consider of the revival 
of -convents, her views had been found to have so far 
diverged from those of the queen that Lord Walwyn was 
thankful to have her safe at home again; and yet she fancied 
herself firm to old Romsey doctrine. She was not learned, 
like Lady Walwyn, but her knowledge in all needle-work 
and confectionery was consummate, so that half the ladies 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


23 


in Dorset and Wilts longed to send their daughters to be 
educated at Hurst Walwyn. Her small figure and soft 
cheeks had the gentle contour of a dove ^s form, nor had she 
lost the conventual serenity of expres^on; indeed it was 
curious that, let Lady Walwyn array her as she would, 
whatever she wore bore a nun-like air. Her silken farthin- 
gales hung like serge robes, her ruffs looked like mufflers, 
her coifs like hoods, even necklaces seemed rosaries, and 
her scrupulous neatness enhanced the pure unearthly air of 
all belonging to her. 

Eager and lively, fair and handsome, sat the Baronne de 
Itibaumont, or rather, since the higher title had been laid 
aside. Dame Annora Thistlewood. The health of M. de 
Kibaumont had been shattered at St. Quentin, and an in- 
clement night of crossing the Channel had brought on an 
attack on the lungs, from which he only rallied enough to 
amaze his English friends at finding the gay dissipated 
young Frenchman they remembered, infinitely more strict 
and rigid than themselves. He was never able to leave the 
house again after his first arrival at Hurst Walwyn, and 
sunk under the cold winds of the next spring, rejoicing to 
leave his wife and son, not indeed among such strict Puri- 
tans as he preferred, but at least where the pure faith CDuld 
be openly avowed witliout danger. 

Sir Marmaduke Thistlewood, the husband to whom 
Annora Walwyn had been destined before M. de Ribau- 
mont had crossed her path, was about the same tinie left a 
widower with one son and daughter, -and as soon as a 
suitable interval had passed, she became a far happier wife 
than she had been in either the baron^s gay or grave days. 
Her son had continued under the roof of his grandfather, 
to whose charge his father had specially committed him, 
and thus had been scarcely separated from his mother, 
since Combe Manor was not above three miles across the 
downs from Hurst Walwyn, and there was almost daily in- 
tercourse between the families. Lucy Thistlewood had been 
brought to Hurst Walwyn to be something between a maid 
of honor and a pupil to the ladies there, and her brother 
Philip, so soon as he was old enough, daily rode thither to 
share with Berenger the instructions of the chaplain, Mr. 
Adderley, who on the present occasion formed one of the 
conclave, sitting a little apart as not quite familiar^ though 
highly esteemed. 


24 


THE CHArLET OE PEAKES. 


With an elbow on the table, and one hand toying with 
his long riding- whip, sat, booted and spurred, the jovial 
figure of Sir Marmaduke, who called out, in his hearty 
voice, A good riddance of an outlandish Papist, say I! 
Head the letter, Berenger lad. No, no, no! English it! I 
know nothing of your mincing French! '’Tis the worst fault 
I know in you, boy, to be half a Frenchman, and have a 
French name — a fault that good Sir Marmaduke did his 
best to remedy by always terming his step-son Berenger as 
Berry Ribmount, and we will so far follow his example as 
henceforth to give the youth the English form of his 
Christian name. He was by this time a tall lad of eighteen, 
with straight features, honest deep blue eyes, very fair hair 
cut short and brushed up to a crest upon the middle of his 
head, a complexion of red and white that all the air of the 
downs and the sea failed to embrown, and that peculiar 
openness and candor of expression which seems so much 
an English birthright, that the only trace of his French 
origin was, that he betrayed no unbecoming at\^kwardness 
in the somewhat embarrassing position in which he was 
placed, literally standing, according to the respectful dis- 
cipline of the time, as the subject of discussion, before the 
circle of his elders. His color was, indeed, deepened, but 
his attitude was easy and graceful, and he used no stiff 
rigidity nor restless movements to mask his anxiety. At 
Sir Marmaduke^’s desire, he could not but redden a good 
deal more, but with a clear, unhesitating voice, he trans- 
lated the letter that he had received from the Chevalier de 
Bibaumont, who, .by the count's death, had become 
Eustacie's guardian. It was- a request, in the name of 
Eustacie and her deceased father, that M. le Baron de 
Bibaumont — who, it was understood, had embraced the 
English heresy — would concur with his spouse in demand- 
ing from his Holiness the Pope a decree annulling the 
childish marriage, which could easily be declared void, both 
on account of the consanguinity of the parties and the dis- 
crepancy of their faith; and which would leave each of 
them free to marry again. 

“ Nothing can be better," exclaimed his mother. “ How 
I have longed to free him from that little shrew, whose 
tricks were the plague of my life! Now there is nothing 
between him and a worthy match!" 

‘‘ We. can make an Englishman of him now to the back- 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


25 


bone/^ added Sir Marmaduke, “ and it is well that it should 
be the lady herself who wants first to be off with it, so that 
none can say he has played her a scurvy trick/ ^ 

‘‘ What say you, JBerenger?^^ said Lord Walwyn. 
“ Listen to me, fair nephew. You know that all my 
remnant of hope is fixed upon you, and that I have looked 
to setting you in the room of a son of my own; and I think 
that under our good queen you will find it easier to lead a 
quiet God-fearing life than in your father^s vexed country, 
'\\diere the reformed religion lies under persecution. Nath- 
less, being a born liegeman of the King of France, and heir 
to estates in his kingdom, meseemeth that before you are 
come to years of discretion it were well that you should 
visit them, and become better able to judge for yourself 
how to deal in this matter when you shall have attained 
full age, and may be able to dispose of them by sale, thus 
freeing yourself from allegiance to a foreign prince. And 
at the same time you can take measures, in concert with 
this young lady, for loosing the wedlock so unhappily con- 
tracted. 

“ Oh, sir, sir!^^ cried Lady Thistlewood, “ send him not 
to France to be burned by the Papists 

‘‘ Peace, daughter, returned her mother. Know you 
not that there is friendship between the court party and the 
Huguenots, and that the peace is to be sealed by the mar- 
riage of the king's sister with the King of Navarre? This 
is the most suitable time at which he could go." 

Then, madame," proceeded the lady, “ he will be run- 
ning about to all the preachings on every bleak moor and 
wet morass he can find, catching his death with rheums, 
like his poor father." 

There was a general smile, and Sir Ma^^maduke laughed 
outright. 

“ Nay, dame," he said, “ have you marked such a greed 
of sermons in our Berry that you should fear his so untoward- 
ly running after them?" 

“ Tilly-vally, Sir Duke," quoth Dame Annora, with a 
flirt of her fan, learned at the French court. Men will 
run after a preacher in a marshy bog out of pure froward- 
ness, when they will nod at a godly homily on a well-stuffed 
bench between four walls. " 

“ I shall commit that matter to Mr. Adderley, who is 
good enough to accompany him," said Lord Walwyn, “ and 


^6 


THT: chaplet op PEAiiLS. 


by whose counsel I trust that he will steer the middle course 
between the Po^^e and Calvin/^ 

Mr. Adderley bowed in answer, saying he hoped that he 
should be enabled to keep his pupiPs mind clear between 
the allurements of Popery and the errors of the Reformed; 
but meanwhile Lady Thistle wood ^s mind had taken a leap, 
and she exclaimed : 

“ And, son, whatever you do, bring home the chaplet of 
pearls! I know they have set their minds upon it. They 
wanted me to deck Eustacie with it on that unlucky bridal- 
day, but I would not hear of trusting her with it, and now 
will it rarely become our Lucy on your real wedding-day."’^ 
‘‘ You travel swiftly, daughter,” said Lord W.alwyn. 
“Nor have we yet heard ihe thoughts of one who ever 
thinks wisely. Sister,” he added, turning to Cecily St. 
John, “ hold not you with us in this matter?’^ 

“ I scarce comprehend it, my lord,” was the gentle reply. 
“ I knew not that it was possible to dissolve the tie of wed- 
lock.” 

“ The Pope^s decree will suffice,” said Lord Walwyn. 

“ Yet, sir,” still said the ex-nun, “ methought you had 
shown me that the Holy Father exceeded his power in the 
annulling of vows. ” 

“ Using mine own lessons against me, sweet sister?” said 
Lord Walwyn, smiling: “yet, remember, the contract was 
rashly made between two ignorant babes; and, bred up as 
they have severally been, it were surely best for them to be 
set free from vows made without their true will or knowl- 
edge.” 

“ And yet,” said Cecily, perplexed, “ when I saw my 
niece here wedded to Sir Marmaduke, was it not with the 
words, ‘ What God hath joined let no man put asunder 
“Good lackh aunt,” cried Lady Thistlewood, “you 
would not have" that poor lad wedded to a pert, saucy, ill- 
tempered little moppet, bred up at that den of iniquity. 
Queen Catherine’s court, where my poor baron never 
trusted me after he fell in with the religion, and had heard 
of King Antony’s calling me the Swan of England. ” 

At that moment there was a loud shriek, half laugh, 
half fright, coming through the window, and Lady Thistle- 
wood, starting up, e?:claimed, “ The child will be drowned! 
Box their ears, Berenger, and bring them in directly.” 
Berenger, at her bidding, hurried out of the room into 


27 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 

the hall, and thence down a flight of steps leading into a 
square walled garden, wdth a couple of stone male and 
female marine divinities accommodating their fishy ex- 
tremities as best they might on the corners of the wall. The 
square contained a bowling-green of exquisitely kept turf, 
that looked as if cut out of green velvet, and was edged on 
its four sides by a raised broad-paved walk, with a trim- 
ming of flower-beds, where the earliest blossoms were show- 
ing themselves. In the center of each side another paved 
path intersected the green lawn, and the meeting of these 
two diameters was at a cu’cular stone basin, presided over 
by another merman, blowing a conch on the top of a pile 
of rocks. On the graveled margin stood two distressed 
little damsels of seven and six years old, remonstrating with 
all their might against the proceedings of a roguish-looking 
boy of fourteen or fifteen, who had perched their junior — a 
fat, fair, kitten-like element of mischief, aged about five — 
en croupe on the merman, and was about, according to her 
delighted request, to make her a bower of w^ater, by ex- 
tracting the plug and setting the fountain to play; but as 
the fountain had been still all the winter, the plug was hard 
of extraction, especially to a young gentleman who stood in- 
securely, with his feet wide apart, upon pointed and slip- 
pery points of rock-work; and Berenger had time to hurry 
up, exclaiming, “ Giddy pate! Dolly would be drenched 
to the skin.^^ 

‘‘ And she has on her best blue, made out of mother '’s 
Drench farthingale,'’ ^ cried the discreet Annora. 

“ Do you know, Dolly, I^ve orders to box your ears, and 
send you in?^'’ added Berenger, as he lifted his little half- 
sister from her perilous position, speaking, as he did so, 
without a shade of foreign accent, though with much more 
rapid utterance than was usual in England. She clung to 
him without much alarm, and retaliated by an endeavor to 
box his ears, while Philip, slowly making his way back to 
the mainland, exclaimed, ‘‘Ah, there's no chance now! 
Here comes demure Mistress Lucy, and she is the worst 
mar-sport of all." 

A gentle girl of seventeen was drawing near, her fair del- 
icately tinted comjDlexion suiting well with her pale golden 
hair. It was a sweet face, and was well set olf by the sky- 
blue of the farthingale, which, with her white lace coif and 
wliite rufi, gave her something the air of a speedwell flower, 


2S 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


more especially as her expression seemed io have caught 
much of Cecily^s air of self-res trained contentment. She 
held a basketful of the orange pistils of crocuses, and at 
once seeing that some riot had taken place, she said to the 
eldest little girl, ‘‘ Ah, Nan, you had been safer gathering 
saffron with me. * 

‘‘ Nay, brother Berry came and made all well, said 
Annora; ‘‘ and he had been shut up so long in the library 
that he must have been very glad to get out.^^ 

“ And what came of it?’^ cried Philip. ‘‘ Are you to go 
and get yourself unmarried?’^ 

“ Unmarried!’^ burst out the sisters Annora and Eliza- 
beth. 

‘‘ What,^^ laughed Philip, ‘‘ you knew not that this is an 
ancient husband, married years before your father and 
mother 

“ But why?^^ said Elizabeth, rather inclined to cry. 
‘‘ What has poor Lucy done that you should get yourself 
unmarried from her?^^ 

There was a laugh from both brothers; but Berenger, 
seeing Lucy^s blushes, restrained himself, and said, “ Mine 
was not such good luck, Bess, but they gave me a little 
French wife, younger than Dolly, and saucier still; and as 
she seems to wish to be quit of me, why, I shall be rid of 
her.^^ 

“ See there, Dolly," said Philip, in a warning voice, 
“ that is the way you^ll be served if you do not mend your 
ways.^’ 

“But I thought,^^ said Annora gravely, “that people 
were married once for all, and it could not be undone. 

“ So said Aunt Cecily, but my lord was proving to her 
out of all law that a contract between such a couple of 
babes went for naught," said Berenger. 

“ And shall you, indeed, see Paris, and all the braveries 
there?" asked Philip. “I thought my lord would never 
have trusted you out of his sight." 

“And now it is to be only with Mr. Adderley," said 
Berenger; “ but there will be rare doings to be seen at this 
royal wedding, and may be I shall break a lance there in 
your honor, Lucy." 

“ And youTl bring me a French fan?" cried Bess. 

“ And me a pouncet-box?" added Annora, 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


29 


“ And me a French puppet, dressed Paris fashion? said 
Dolly. 

“ And what shall he bring Lncy?^’ added Bess. 

“ I know,^^ said Annora; “ the pearls that mother is 
always talkmg about! I heard her say that Lucy should 
wear them on her wedding-day. ” 

“Hush!^' interposed Lucy, “ don^t you see my father 
yonder on the step, beckoning to you?^^ 

The children flew toward Sir Marmaduke, leaving Beren- 
ger and Lucy together. 

“ Not a word to wish me good-speed, Lucy, now I have 
my wish?^^ said Berenger. 

‘‘ Oh, yes,^^ said Lucy, “Tam glad you shall see all those 
brave French gentlemen of whom you used to tell me.'’"' 

“ Yes, they will be all at court, and the good admiral is 
said to be in high favor. He will surely remember my 
father. 

“And shall you see the lady?-’^ asked Lucy, under her 
breath. 

“ Eustacie? Probably; but that will make no change. 
I have heard too much of Vescadron de la Reine-mere to 
endure the thought of a wife from thence, were she the 
Queen of Beauty herself. And my mother says that 
Eustacie would lose all her beauty as she grew up — like 
black-eyed Sue on the down; nor did I ever think her brown 
skin and fierce black eyes to compare with you, Lucy. I 
could be well content never to see her more; but,"*^ and 
here he lowered his voice to a tone of confidence, “ my fa- 
ther, when near his death, called me, and told me that he 
feared my marriage would be a cause of trouble and tempta- 
tion to me, and that I must deal with it after my con- 
science when I was able to judge in the matter. Something, 
too, he said of the treaty of marriage being a burden on 
his soul, but I know not what he meant. If ever I saw 
Eustace again, I was to give her his own copy of Clement 
Marot^’s Psalter, and to tell her that he had ever loved and 
prayed for her as a daughter; and, moreover, my father 
added, said Berenger, much moved at the remembrance 
it brought across him, “ that if this matter proved a 
burden and perplexity to me, I was to pardon him as one 
who repented of it as a thing done ere he had learned to 
weigh the whole world against a soul.'’^ 

^^Yes, you must see her,'’^ said Lucy. 


30 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


Well, what more were you going to say, Lucy?^^ 

“ I was only thinking, said Lucy, as she raised her eyes 
to him, ‘‘ how sorry she will be that she let them write that 
letter/^ 

Berenger laughed, pleased with the simplicity of Lucy^s 
admiration, but with modesty and common sense enough 
to answer, ‘‘ No fear of that, Lucy, for an heiress, with all 
the court gallants of France at her feet/^ 

“ Ah, but you!^’ 

‘‘ I am all very well here, where you have never seen 
anybody but lubberly Dorset squires that never went to 
London, nor Oxford, nor beyond their own furrows, said 
Berenger; but depend upon it, she has been bred up to 
care for all the airs and graces that are all the fashion at 
Paris now, and will be as glad to be rid of an honest man 
and a Protestant as I shall to be quit of a court puppet and. 
a Papist. Shall you have finished my point-cufPs next week, 
Lucy? Depend upon it, no gentleman of them all will 
wear such dainty lace of such a fancy as those will be.'’'’ 

And Lucy smiled, well pleased. 

Coming from the companionship of Eustacie to that of 
gentle Lucy had been to Berenger a change from perpetual 
warfare to perfect supremacy, and his preference to his lit- 
tle sister, as he had been taught to call her from the first, 
had been loudly expressed. Brother and sister they had 
ever since considered themselves, and only within the last 
few months had possibilities been discussed among the eld- 
ers of the family, which, oozing out in some mysterious man- 
ner, had become felt rather than known among the young 
people, yet without altering the habitual terms that existed 
between them. Both were so young that love was the 
merest, vaguest dream to them; and Lucy, in her quiet 
faith that Berenger was the most beautiful, excellent, and 
accomplished cavalier the earth could afford, was little 
troubled about her own future share in him. She seemed 
to be promoted to belong to him just as she had grown up 
to curl her hair and wear ruffs and farthingales. And to 
Berenger Lucy was a very pleasant feature in that English 
home, where he had been far happier than in the uncer- 
tainties of Chateau Leurre, between his naughty playfellow, 
his capricious mother, and morose father. If in Englaial 
his lot was to be cast, Lucy was acquiesced in willingly as a 
portion of that lot. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


31 


CHAPTER IV. 

TITHOKUS. 

A youth came riding toward a palace gate, 

And from the palace came a child of sin 
And took him by the curls and led him in! 

Where sat a company with heated eyes. 

Tennyson, A Vision of Sin. 

It was in the month of June that Berenger de Ribau- 
niont first came in sight of Paris. His grandfather had 
himself begun by taking him to London and presenting 
him to Queen Elizabeth, from whom the lad^s good mien 
procured him a most favorable reception. She willingly 
promised that on which Lord Walwyn^s heart was set, 
namely, that his title and rank should be continued to his 
grandson ; and an ample store of letters of recommendation 
to Sir Francis Walsingham, the embassador, and all others 
who could be of service in the French court, were to do their 
utmost to provide him with a favorable reception there. 

Then, with Mr. Adderley and four or five servants, he 
had crossed the Channel, and had gone first to Chateau 
Leurre, where he was rapturously welcomed by the old 
steward Osbert. The old man had trained up his son Lan- 
dry, Berenger^s foster-brother, to become his valet, and 
had him taught all the arts of hair-dressing and surgery that 
were part of the profession of a gentleman^ s body-servant; 
and the youth, a smart, acute young Norman, became a 
valuable addition to the suite, the guidance of which, 
through a foreign country, their young master did not find 
veiy easy. Mr. Adderley thought he knew French very 
well, through books, but the language he spoke was not 
available, and he soon feU into a state of bewilderment 
rather hard on his pupil, who, though a very good boy, 
and crammed very full of learning, was still nothing more 
than. a lad of eighteen in all matters of prudence and dis- 
creNon. 

Xord Walwyn was, as we have seen, one of those whose 
Qhurch principles had altered very little and very gradual- 
jly; and in the utter diversity of practice that prevailed in 
i,the early years of Queen Elizabeth, his chaplain as well as 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


33 

the rector of the parish had altered no more than was abso- 
lutely enjoined of the old ceremonial. If the poor Baron 
de Ribaumont had ever been well enough to go to church 
on a Sunday, he would perhaps have thought himself still 
in the realms of what he considered as darkness; but as he 
had never openly broken with the Gallic Church, Berenger 
had gone at once from mass at Leurre to the Combe W al- 
wyn service. Therefore when he spent a Sunday at Rouen, 
and attended a Calvinist service in the building that the 
Huguenots were permitted outside the town, he was much 
disappointed in it; he thought its very fervor familiar and 
irreverent, and felt himself much more at home in the ca- 
thedral into which he strayed in the afternoon. And, on 
the Sunday he was at Leurre, he went, as a part of his old 
home-habits, to mass at the old round -arched church, 
where he and Eustacie had played each other so many teas- 
ing tricks at his mother ^s feet, and had received so many 
admonitory nips and strokes of her fan. All he saw there 
was not congenial to him, but he liked it vastly better than 
the Huguenot meeting, and was not prepared to understand 
or enter into Mr. Adderley^s vexation, when the tutor as- 
sured him that the reverent gestures that came naturally to 
him were regarded by the Protestants as idolatry, and that 
he would be viewed as a recreant from his faith. All Mr. 
Adderley hoped was that no one would hear of it; and in 
this he felt himself disappointed, when, in the midst of his 
lecture, there walked into the room a little, withered, 
brown, dark-eyed man, in a gorgeous dress of green and 
gold, who doffing a hat with an umbrageous plume, precipi- 
itated himself, as far as he could reach, toward Berenger^s 
neck, calling him fair cousin and dear baron. The lad 
stood, taken by surprise for a moment, thinking that Ti- 
thonus must have looked just like this, and skipped like 
this, just as he became a grasshopper; then he recollected 
that this must be the Chevalier de Ribaumont, and tried to 
make up for his want of cordiality. The old man had, it 
appeared, come out of Picardy, where he lived on souije 
maigre in a corner of the ancestral castle, while his son and 
daughter were at court, the one in monsieur^s suite, Yhe 
other in that of the queen-mother. He had come purelyy;o 
meet his dear young cousin, and render him all the assis^v 
ance in his power, conduct him to Paris, and give him iij 
troductions. j 


TnE CITAPLET OF PEARLS. 


33 


Berenger, who had begun to find six Englishmen a 
troublesome charge in France, was rather relieved at not 
being the only French scholar of the party, and the cheva- 
lier also hinted to him that he spoke with a dreadful Nor- 
man accent that would never be tolerated at court, even if 
it were understood by the way. Moreover, the chevalier 
studied him all over, and talked of Paris tailors and post- 
ure-masters, and, though the pink of politeness, made it 
evident that there was immensely too much of him. “ It 
might be the custom in England to be so tall; here no one 
was of anything like such a height, but the Duke of Guise, 
lie, in his position, with his air, could carry it olf, but we 
must adapt ourselves as best we can.^^ 

And his shrug and look of concern made Berenger for a 
moment almost ashamed of that superfluous height of which 
they were all so proud at home. Then he recollected him- 
self, and asked, And why should not I be tali as well as 
Monsieur de Guise? 

“ We shall sec, fair cousin, he answered, with an odd 
satirical bow; “ we are as Heaven made us. All lies in the 
management, and if you had the advantages of training, 
perhaps you could even turn your height into a grace.-’' 

“ Am I such a great lubber?" wondered Berenger; 
“ they did not think so at home. No; nor did the queen. 
She said I was a proper stripling! Well, it matters the less, 
as I shall not stay long to need their favor; and ITl show 
them there is some use in my inches in the tilt-yard. But 
if they think me such a lout, what would they say to hon- 
est Philip?" 

The chevalier seemed willing to take on him the whole 
management of his “ fair cousin." He inquired into the 
amount of the rents and dues which old Osbert had collect- 
ed and held ready to meet the young baron's exigencies; 
and which would, it seemed, be all needed to make liis dress 
any way presentable at court. The pearls, too, were in- 
quired for, and handed over by Osbert to his young lord's 
keeping, with the significant intimation that they had been 
den.*R,nded when the young Mme. la Baronnewent to court; 
bu^^that he had buried them in the orchard, and made an- 
s^r that they were not in the chateau. The contract of 
lharriage, which Berenger could just remember signmg, 
•^nd seeing signed by his father, the king, and the counl;, 
Vas not forthcoming; and the chevalier explained that it 

V; " 


34 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAllLS. 


was in the hands of a notary at Paris. For this Berenger 
was not sorry. His grandfather had desired him to master 
the contents, and he thought he had thus escaped a veiy 
dry and useless study. 

He did not exactly dislike the old Chevalier de Kibau- 
mont. The system on which he had been brought up had 
not been indulgent, so that compliments and admiration 
were an agreeable surprise to him; and rebuffs and rebukes 
from his elders had been so common, that hints, in the 
delicate dressing of the old knight, came on him almost like 
gracious civilities. There was no love lost between the 
chevalier and the chaplain, that was plain; but how could 
there be between an ancient French courtier and a sober 
English divine? However, to Mr. Adderley^s great relief, 
no attempts were made on BerengeFs faith, his kinsman 
even was disposed to promote his attendance at such Cal- 
vinist places of worship as they passed on the road, and 
treated him in all things as a mere guest, to be patronized 
indeed, but as much an alien as if he had been born in Eng- 
land. And yet there was a certain deference to him as 
head of the family, and a friendliness of manner that made 
the boy feel him a real relation, and all through the journey 
it came naturally that he should be the entire manager, and 
Berenger the paymaster on a liberal scale. 

Thus had the travelers reached the neighborhood of Paris, 
when a jingling of chains and a trampling of horses an- 
nounced the advance of riders, and several gentlemen with 
a troop of servants came in sight. 

All were gayly dressed, with feathered hats, and short 
Spanish cloaks jauntily disposed over one shoulder; and 
their horses were trapped with bright silvered ornaments. 
As they advanced, the chevalier exclaimed; “ Ah! it is my 
son ! I knew he would come to meet me. And, simul- 
taneously, father and son leaped from their horses, and 
rushed into each other’s arms. Berenger felt it only court- 
eous to dismount and exchange embraces with his cousin, 
but with a certain sense of repulsion at the cloud oh per- 
fume that seemed to surround the younger Chevalier de 
Eibaumont; the ear-rings in his ears; the general air of^S^F 
icate research about his riding-dress, and the elaborate at,- 
tention paid to a small, dark, sallow face and figure, ih 
which the only tolerable feature was an intensely black and- 
piercing pair of eyes. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


35 


Cousin, I am endian ted to welcome you.^^ 

“ Cousin, I thank you. 

Allow me to present you.^^ And Berenger bowed low 
in succession several times in reply to salutations, as his 
cousin Narcisse named M. d’O, M. de la Valette, M. de 
Pi brae, M. PAbbe de Mericour, who had done him the 
honor to accompany him in coming out to meet his father 
and M. le Baron. Then the two cousins remounted, some- 
thing was said to the chevaliers of the devoirs of the demoi- 
selles, and they rode on together bandjdng news and rep- 
artee so fast, that Berenger felt that his ears had become 
too much accustomed to the more deliberate English speech 
to enter at once into what caused so much excitement, gest- 
ure, and wit. The royal marriage seemed doubtful — the 
Pope refused liis sanction; nay, but means would be found 
— the king would not be impeded by the Pope; Spanish in- 
fluence — nay, the king, had thrown himself at the head of 
the Keformed — he was bewitched with the grim old Coligny 
— if order were not soon taken, the Louvre itself would be- 
come a temple. 

Then one of the party turned suddenly and said, ‘‘ But I 
forget, monsieur is a Huguenot?^^ 

I am a Protestant of the English Church, said Be- 
renger, rather stiffly, in the formula of his day.' 

“ Well, you have come at the right moment. •’Tis all for 
the sermon now. If the little abbe there wishes to sail 
with a fair wind, he should throw away his breviary and 
study his Calvin. 

Bereng^r^s attention was thus attracted to the Abbe de 
Mericour, a young man of about twenty, whose dress was 
darker than that of the rest, and his hat of a clerical cut, 
though in other respects he was equipped with the same 
point-device elegance. 

“ Calvin would never give him the rich abbey of Selicy,^^ 
said another; ‘‘ the breviary is the safer speculation.'’^ 

‘ ‘ Ah ! Monsieur de Ribaumont can tell you that abbeys are 
i;o .^ch securities in these days. Let yonder admiral get the 
u£%r hand, and' we shall see Mericour, the happy cadet 
o^ight brothers and sisters, turned adrift from their con- 
;^nts. What a fatherly spectacle Monsieur le Marquis will 
present 

Here the chevalier beckoned to Berenger, who, riding 



36 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


forward, learned that Narcisse had engaged lodgings for 
him and his suite at one of the great inns, and Berenger 
returned his thanks, and a proposal to the chevalier to be- 
come his guest. They were by this time entering the city, 
where the extreme narrowness and dirt of the streets con- 
trasted with the grandeur of the palatial courts that could 
be partly seen through their archways. At the hostel they 
rode under such an arch, and found themselves in a paved 
yard that would have been grand had it been clean. Pri- 
vacy had scarcely been invented, and the party were not at 
all surprised to find that the apartment prepared for them 
was to serve both day and night for Berenger, the chevalier, 
and Mr. Adderley, besides having a truckle-bed on the floor 
for Osbert. Meals were taken in public, and it was now 
one o^ clock — just dinner-time; so after a hasty toilet the 
three gentlemen descended, the rest of the party having 
ridden off to their quarters, either as attendants of mon- 
sieur or to their families. It was a sumptuous meal, at 
which a great number of gentlemen were present, coming 
in from rooms hired over shops, etc. — all, as it seemed, as- 
sembled at Paris for the marriage festivities; but Berenger 
began to gather that they were for the most part adherents 
of the Guise party, and far from friendly to the Huguenot 
interest. Some of them appeared hardly to tolerate Mr. 
Adderley ^s presence at the table; and Berenger, though liis 
kinsman ^s patronage secured civil treatment, felt much out 
of his element, confused, unable to take part in the conver- 
sation, and sure that he was where those at home did not 
wish to see him. 

No sooner was the dinner over than he rose and ex- 
pressed his intention of delivering his letters of introduction 
in jDerson to the English embassador and to the Admiral de 
Coligny, whom, as his father’s old friend and the hero of 
his boyhood, he was most anxious to see. The chevalier 
demurred to this. Were it not better to take measures at 
once for making himself presentable, and Narcisse had al- 
ready supplied him with directions to the fashionable' hair- 
cutter, etc. It would be taken amiss if he went to tl^\ad- 
miral before going to present himself to the king. 

‘‘ And I can not see my cousins till I go to coum” 
asked Berenger. 

‘‘ Most emphatically. No. Have I not told you that the\ 
one is in the suite of the young queen, the other in that of \ 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


37 


the queen-mother? I will myself present you, if only you 
will give me the honor of your guidance. 

‘‘With all thanks, monsieur, said Berenger; “my 
grandf ather^s desire was that I should lose no time in going 
to his friend Sir Francis Walsingham, and I had best sub- 
mit myself to his judgment as to my appearance at court. 

On this point Berenger was resolute, though the cheva- 
lier recurred to the danger of any proceeding that might be 
unacceptable at court. Berenger, harassed and impatient, 
repeated that he did not care _ about tlie court, and wished 
merely to fulfill his purpose and return, at which his kins- 
man shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, and mut- 
tered to himself, “ Ah, what does he know ! He will regret 
it when too late; but I have done my best. 

Berenger paid little attention to this, but calling Landry 
Osbert, and a couple of his men, he bade them take their 
swords and bucklers, and escort him in his walk through 
Paris. He set off with a sense of escape, but before he had 
made many steps, he was obliged to turn and warn Hum- 
frey and Jack that they were not to walk swaggering along 
the streets, with hand on sword, as if every Frenchman 
they saw was the natural foe of their master. 

Very tall were the houses, very close and extremely filthy 
the streets, very miserable the beggars; and yet here and 
there was to be seen the open front of a most brilliant shop, 
and the thoroughfares were crowded with richly dressed 
gallants. Even the wider streets gave little space for the 
career of the gay horsemen who rode along them, still less 
for the great, cumbrous, though gayly decked coaches, in 
which ladies appeared glittering with jewels and fan in 
hand, with tiny white dogs on their knees. 

The persons of whom Berenger inquired the way all un- 
capped most respectfully, and replied with much courtesy; 
but when the hotel of the English embassador had been 
pointed out to him, he hardly believed it, so foul and 
squalid was the street, where a large nail-studded door oc- 
cupied a wide archway. Here was a heavy iron knocker, 
to which Osbert applied himself. A little door was at once 
opened by a large, powerful John Bull of a porter, whose 
lopks expanded into friendly welcome when he heard the 
English tongue of the visitor. Inside, the scene was very 
Tfinlike that without. The hotel was built round a paved 
^court, adorned with statues and stone vases, with yews and 


38 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


cypresses in them, and a grand flight of steps led up to the 
grand center of the house, around which were collected a 
number of attendants, wearing the Walsingham colors. 
Among these Berenger left his two Englishmen, well con- 
tent to have fallen into an English colony. Landry 
followed him to an anteroom, while the groom of the cham- 
bers went forward to announce the visitor, Berenger wait- 
ing to know wEether the embassador would be at liberty to 
see him. 

Almost immediately the door was reopened, and a keen- 
looking gentleman, about six-and-thirty years of age, rather 
short in stature, but nevertheless very dignified-looking, 
came forward with outstretched hands — Greet you well, 
my Lord de Eibaumont. We expected your coming. Wel- 
come, mine honored friend ^s grandson. 

And as Berenger bent low in reverent greeting. Sir 
Erancis took his hand and kissed his brow, saying, ‘‘ Come 
in, my young friend; we are but sitting over our wine and 
comfits after dinner. Have you dined?'"' 

Berenger explained that he had dined at the inn, where 
he had taken lodgings. 

“Nay, but that must not be. My Lord Walwyn's 
grandson here, and not my guest! You do me wrong, sir, 
in not having ridden hither at once." 

“ Truly, my lord, I ventured not. They sent me forth 
with quite a company — my tutor and six grooms. " 

“ Our chaplain will gladly welcome his reverend 
brother," said Sir Erancis; “ and as to the grooms, one of 
my fellows shall go and bring them and their horses up. 
What!" rather gravely, as Berenger still hesitated. “ I 
have letters for you here, which methinks will make your 
grandfather's wish clear to you." 

Berenger saw the embassador was displeased with his re- 
luctance, and answered quickly, “ In sooth, my lord, I 
would esteem myself only too happy to be thus honored, 
but in sooth — " he repeated himself, and faltered. 

“ In sooth, you expected more freedom than in my grave 
house," said Walsingham, displeased. 

“Not so, my lord: it would be all that I could desire; 
but I have done hastily. A kinsman of mine has come up 
to Paris with me, and I have made him my guest. I knb.w 
not how to break with him — the Chevalier de Eibaumont. 'T 
“ What, the young ruffler in monsieur's suite?" 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


30 


‘‘ No, my lord; his father. He comes on my business. 
He is an old man, and can ill bear the cost, and I could 
scarce throw him over.^'’ 

Borenger spoke with such earnest, bright, open simplic- 
ity, and look so boyish and confiding, that Sir Francis'^s 
heart was won, and he smiled as he said, “ Right, lad, you 
are a considerate youth. It were not well to cast off your 
kinsman; but when you have read your letters, you may 
well plead your grandfather^s desires, to say nothing of a 
hint from her grace to have an eye to you. And for the 
rest, you can acquit yourself gracefully to the gentleman, 
by asking him to occupy the lodging that you had taken. 

Berenger^s face brightened up in a manner that spoke 
for his sincerity; and Sir Francis added, “And where be 
these lodgings?'^ 

“At the Croix de Lorraine.'’^ 

“ Ha! your kinsman has taken you into a nest of Guis- 
ards. But come, let me present you to my wife and my 
other guests, then will I give you your letters, and you shall 
return and make your excuses to Monsieur le Chevalier. 

Berenger seemed to himself to be on familiar ground 
again as his host thus assumed the direction of him and 
ushered him into a large dining-hall, where the table had 
been forsaken in favor of a lesser table placed in the ample 
window, round which sat assembled some six or eight per- 
sons, with fruit, wine, and conserves before them, a few 
little dogs at their feet or on their laps, and a lute lying on 
the knee of one of the young gentlemen. Sir Francis pre- 
sented the young Lord de Ribaumont, their expected guest, 
to Lady Walsingham, from whom he received a cordial wel- 
come, and her two little daughters, Frances and Elizabeth, 
and likewise to the gentleman with the lute, a youth about 
a year older than Berenger, and of very striking and pre- 
possessing countenance, who was named as Mr. Sidney, the 
son of the Lord Deputy of Ireland. A couple of gentlemen 
who would in these times have been termed attaches, a 
couple of lady attendants upon Lady Walsingham, and the 
chaplain made up the party, which on this day chanced 
only to include, besides the household, the young traveler, 
Sidney. Berenger was at once seated, and accepted a wel- 
coming-cup of wine (^. e. a long slender glass with a beau- 
tifully twisted stem), responded to friendly inquiries about 
his relatives at home, and acknowledged the healths that 


40 


THE CIIArLET OF PEAKLS. 


were drunk in honor of their names; after which Lady 
Walsingham begged that ^r. Sidney would sing the mad- 
rigal he had before promised: afterward a glee was sung by 
Sidney, one of the gentlemen, and Lady Walsmgham;., and 
it was discovered that M. de Kibaumont had a trained ear, 
and the very voice that was wanting to the Italian song 
they were practicing. And so sped a happy hour, till a 
booted and spurred messenger came in with letters for his 
excellency, who, being thus roused from his dreamy enjoy- 
ment of the music, carried young Eibaumont off with him 
to his cabinet, and there made over to him a packet, with 
good news from home, and orders that made it clear that 
he could do no other than accept the hospitality of the em- 
bassy. Thus armed with authority, he returned to the 
Croix de Lorraine, where Mr. Adderley could not contain 
his joy at the change to quarters not only so much more 
congenial, but so much safer; and the chevalier, after some 
polite demur, consented to remain in possession of the 
rooms, being in fact well satisfied with the arrangement. 

“ Let him steep himself up to the lips among the En- 
glish, said Tithonus to his son. “ Thus will he peaceably 
relinquish to you all that should have been yours from the 
first, and at court will only be looked on as an overgrown 
English page. 

The change to the embassador^s made Berenger happy at 
once. He was not French enough in breeding, or even 
constitution, to feel the society of the Croix de Lorraine 
congenial; and, kind as the chevalier showed himself, it 
was with a wonderful sense of relief that Berenger shook 
himself free from both his fawning and his patronizing. 
There was a constant sense of not understanding the old 
gentleman’s aims, whereas in Walsingham ’s house all was 
as clear, easy, and open as at home. 

And though Berenger had been educated in the country, 
it had been in the same tone as that of his new friends. He 
was greatly approved by Sir Francis as a stripling of parts 
and modesty. Mr. Sidney made him a companion, and 
the young matron. Lady Walsingham, treated him as 
neither lout nor lubber. Yet he could not be at ease in his 
state between curiosity and repulsion toward the wife who 
was to be discarded by mutual consent. The sight of the 
scenes of his early oliildhood had stirred up warmer recol- 
lections of the pretty little plavful torment who through 

4 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


41 

the vista of years assumed the air of a tricksy elf rather 
than the little vixen he used to think her. His curiosity 
had been further stimulated by the sight of his rival, Nar- 
cisse, whose effeminate ornaments, small stature, and seat 
on horseback filled Sir Marmaduke’s pupil with inquisitive 
disdain as to the woman who could prefer an3rthing so un- 
manly. 

Sidney was to be presented at the after-dinner reception 
at the Louvre the next day, and Sir Francis proposed to 
take young Ribaumont with him. Berenger colored, and 
spoke of his equipment, and Sidney good-naturedly offered 
to come and inspect. That young gentleman was one of 
the daintiest in apparel of his day; but he was amazed that 
the suit in which Berenger had paid his devoir to Queen 
Elizabeth should have been set aside — it was of pearl-gray 
velvet, slashed with rose-colored satin, and in shape and 
fashion point-device — unless, as the embassador said good- 
humoredly, “ my young Lord Ribaumont wished to be one 
of monsieur’s clique.” Thus arrayed, then, and with the 
chaplet of pearls bound round the small cap, with a heron- 
plume that sat jauntily on one side of his fair curled head, 
Berenger took his seat beside the hazel-eyed, brown-haired 
Sidney, in his white satin and crimson, and with the em- 
bassador and his attendants was rolled off in the great 
state-coach drawn by eight horses, which had no sinecure 
in dragging the ponderous machine through the unsavory 
debris of the streets. 

Royalty fed in public. The sumptuous banqueting-room 
contained a barrier, partitioning off a space where Charles 
IX. sat alone at his table, as a State spectacle. He was a 
sallow, unhealthy-looking youth, with large prominent 
dark eyes and a melancholy dreaminess of expression, as if 
the whole ceremony, not to say the world itself, were dis- 
tasteful. How and then, as though endeavoring to cast off 
the mood, he would call to some gentlemen and exchange 
a rough jest, generally fortified with a tremendous oath, 
that startled Berenger’s innocent ears. He. scarcely tasted 
what was put on his plate, but drank largely of sherbet, 
and seemed to be trying to linger through the space allotted 
for the ceremony. 

Silence was observed, but not so absolute that Walsing- 
ham could not point out to his young companions the nota- 
abjlities present. The lofty figure of Henri, Duke of 


42 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 

Guise, towered high above all around him, and his grand 
features, proud lip, and stern eye claimed such natural 
superiority that Berenger for a moment felt a glow on his 
cheek as he remembered his challenge of his right to rival 
that splendid stature. And yet Guise was very little older 
than himself; but he walked, a prince of men, among a 
crowd of gentlemen, attendants on him rather than on the 
king. The elegant but indolent-looking Duke de Mont- 
morency had a much more attractive air, and seemed to 
hold a kind of neutral ground between Guise on the one 
hand, and the Keformed, who mustered at the other eiid of 
the apartment. Almost by intuition, Berenger knew the 
fine calm features of the gray-haired Admiral de Coligny 
before he heard him so addressed by the king^s loud, rough 
voice. When the king rose from .table the presentations 
took place, but as Charles heard the name of the Baron de 
Eibaumont, he exclaimed, ‘‘ What, monsieur, are you pre- 
sented here by our good si sterns representative?^^ 

Walsingham answered for him, alluding to the negotia- 
tions for Queen Elizabeth's marriage with one of the 
French princes — ‘‘ Sire, in the present happy conjuncture, it 
needs not be a less loyal Frenchman to have an inheritance 
in the lands of my royal mistress.'’^ 

“ What say you, monsieur?^’’ sharply demanded the king; 
are you come here to renounce your country, religion — 
and love, as I have been told?^^ 

‘‘ I hope, sire, never to be unfaithful where I owe faith, 
said Berenger, heated, startled, and driven to extremity. 

‘‘Not ill-answered for the English giant, said Charles 
aside to an attendant: then turning eagerly to Sidney, 
whose transcendent accomplishments had already become 
renowned, Charles welcomed him to court, and began to 
discuss Bonsard^s last sonnet, showing no small taste and 
knowledge of poetiy. Greatly attracted by Sidney, the king 
detained the whole English party by an invitation to AVal- 
singham to hear music in the queen-m cillery’s apartments; 
and Berenger, following in the wake of his friends, found 
himself in a spacious hall, with a raised gallery at one end 
for the musicians, the walls decorated with the glorious 
paintings collected by Franqois L, Greek and lioman 
statues clustered at the angles, and cabinets with gems and 
antiques disposed at intervals. Not that Berenger beheld 
much of this: he was absolutely dazzled with the brilliant 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


43 


assembly into which he was admitted. There moved the 
most beautiful women in France, in every lovely colored 
tint that dress could assume: their bosoms, arms, and hair 
sparkling with jewels; their gossamer rutfs surrounding 
their necks like fairy wings; their light laugh mingling 
with the music, as they sat, stood, or walked in graceful 
attitudes conversing with one another or with the cavaliers, 
whose brilliant velvet and jewels fitly mixed with their 
bright array. These were the sirens he had heard of, the 
“squadron of the queen-mother,^^ the dangerous beings 
against whom he was to steel himself. And which of them 
was the child he had played with, to whnm his vows had 
been plighted? It was like some of the enchanting dreams 
of romance merely to look at these fair creatures; and he 
stood as if gazing into a magic-glass till Sir Francis Wal- 
singham, looking round for him, said, “ Come, then, my 
young friend, you must do your devoirs to the queens. 
Sidney, I see, is as usual in his element; the king has seized 
upon him. 

Catherine de Medicis was seated on a large velvet chair, 
conversing with the German embassador. Never beauti- 
ful, she appeared to more advantage in her mature years 
than in her girlhood, and there was all the dignity of a life- 
time of rule in her demeanor and gestures, the bearing of 
her head, and motion of her exquisite hands. Her eyes 
were like her son's, prominent, and gave the sense of seeing 
all round at once, and her smile was to the highest degree 
engaging. She received the young Baron de Eibaumont 
far more graciously than Charles had done, held out her 
hand to be kissed, and observed “ that the young gentleman 
was like madame sa mere whom she well remembered as 
much admired. Was it true that she was married in Eng- 
land?" 

Berenger bowed assent. 

“Ah! you English make gooa spouses," she said, with a 
smile. “ Ever satisfied with home! But, your excel- 
lency," added she, turning to Walsingham, “what stones 
would best please my good sister for the setting of the jewel 
my son would send her with his portrait? He is all for 
emeralds, for the hue of hope; but I call it the color of 
jealousy. " 

Walsingham made a sign that Berenger had better re- 
treat from hearing the solemn coquetting carried on by the 


44 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


maiden queen through her gravest embassadors. He fell 
back, and remained watching the brilliant throng, trying 
in vain to discover the bright merry eyes and velvet cheek 
he remembered of old. Presently a kindly salutation, in- 
terrupted him, and a gentleman who perceived him to be a 
stranger began to try to set him at ease, pointed out to him 
the handsome, foppishly dressed Duke of Anjou, and his 
ugly, spiteful little brother of Alenqon, then designated as 
Queen Elizabeth's future husband, who was saying some- 
thing to a lady that made her color and bite her lips. ‘‘ Is 
that the younger queen asked Berenger, as his eyes fell 
on a sallow, dark-complexioned, sad-looking little creature in 
deep mourning, and with three or four such stately-looking, 
black-robed, Spanish-looking duennas round her as to prove 
her to be a person of high consequence. 

‘‘ That? Oh, no; that is Madame Catherine of Havarre, 
who has resided here ever since her mother^s death, await- 
ing her brother, our royal bridegroom. See, here is the 
bride, Madame Marguerite, conversing with Monsieur de 
Guise. 

Berenger paid but little heed to Marguerite^s showy but 
already rather coarse beauty, and still asked where was the 
young Queen Elizabeth of Austria. She was unwell, and 
not in presence. “Ah! then,^^ he said, “her ladies will 
not be here. 

“ That is not certain. Are you wishing to see any one 
of them?^^ 

“I would like to see — He could not help coloring till 
his cheeks rivaled the color of his sword-knot. “ I want 
j ust to know if she is here. I know not if she be called 
Madame or Mademoiselle de Kibaumont. 

“ The fair Kibaumont! Assuredly; see, she is looking at 
you. Shall I. present you?^'’ 

A pirir of exceedingly brilliant dark eyes were fixed on 
Berenger with a sort of haughty curiosity and half recog- 
nition. The face was handsome and brilliant, but he felt 
indignant at not perceiving a particle of a blush at encount- 
ering him, indeed rather a look of amusement at the deep 
glow which his fair complexion rendered so apparent. He 
would fain have escaped from so public an interview, but 
her eye was upon him, and there was no avoiding the meet- 
ing. As he moved nearer he saw what a beautiful person 
she was, her rich primrose-colored dress settmg off her 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


45 


brunette complexion and her stately presence. She looked 
older than he had expected; but this was a hot-bed where 
eveiy one grew up early, and the expression and manner 
made him feel that an old intimacy was here renewed, and 
that they were no strangers. 

“We need no introduction, cousin,-’^ she said, giving a 
hand to be saluted. ‘ ‘ I knew you instantly. It is the old 
face of Chateau Leurre, only gone up so high and become 
so handsome. 

‘‘ Cousins,"^ thought he. “ Well, it makes things 
easier! but what audacity to be so much at her ease, when 
Lucy would have simk into the earth with shame. His 
bow had saved him the necessity of answering in words, and 
the lady continued : 

“ And madame votre mere. Is she well? She was very 
good to me.^^ 

Berenger did not thuik that kindness to Eustacie had 
been her chief perfection, but he answered that she was 
well and sent her commendations, which the young lady 
acknowledged by a' magnificent courtesy. “ And as beau- 
tiful as ever?^-’ she asked. 

“ Quite as beautiful,” he said, “only somewhat more 
emhonyoint. ” 

“Ah!^^ she said, smiling graciously, and raising her 
splendid eyes to his face, “ I understand better what that 
famous beauty was now, and the fairness that caused her 
to be called the Swan.” 

It was so personal that the color rushed again into his 
cheek. No one had ever so presumed to admire him; and 
with a degree gratified and surprised, and sensible more 
and more of the extreme beauty of the lady, there was a 
sort of alarm about him as if this were the very fascination 
he had been warned against, and as if she were casting a 
net about him, which, wife as she was, it would be impos- 
sible to him to break. 

“ Nay, monsieur,” she laughed, “ is a word from one so 
near too much for your modesty? Is it possible that no 
one has yet told you of your good mien? Or do they not 
appreciate Greek noses and blue eyes in the land of fift 
Englishmen? How have you ever lived en province 9 Our 
princes are ready to hang themselves at the thought of be- 
ing in such banishment, even at court — indeed, monsieur 


4G 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


luis contrived to transfer the noose to Monsieur d’AlenQon. 
Have you been at court, cousin?” 

‘‘ I have been presented to the queen.”' 

She then proceeded to ask questions about the chief per- 
sonages with a rapid intelligence that surprised him as well 
as alarmed him, for he felt more and more in the power of 
a very clever as well as beautiful woman, and tlie attraction 
she exercised made him long the more to escape; but she 
smiled and' signed away several cavaliers who would have 
gained her attention. She spoke of Queen Mary of Scot- 
land, then in the fifth year of her captivity, and asked if he 
did not feel bound to her service by having been once her 
partner. Did not he remember that dance? 

“ I have heard my mother speak of it far too often to 
forget it, ” said Berenger, glowing again for her who could 
speak of that occasion without a blush. 

You wish to gloss over your first inconstancy, sir,^^ she 
said, archly; but he was spared from further reply by Philip 
Sidney^s coming to tell him that the embassador was ready 
to return home. He took leave with an alacrity that re- 
doubled his courtesy so much that he desired to be com- 
mended to his cousin Diane, whom he had not seen. 

“ To Diane?” said the lady, inquiringly. 

“ To Mademoiselle Diane de Eibaumont,^^ he corrected 
himself, ashamed of his English rusticity. ‘‘I beg pardon 
if I spoke too familiarly 'of her.^^ 

“ She should be flattered by Monsieur le Barones slight- 
est recollection,” said the lady, with an ironical tone that 
there was no time to analyze, and with a mutual gesture of 
courtesy he followed Sidney to where Sir Francis awaited 
them. 

“ Well, what think you of the French court?” asked 
Sidney, so soon as the young men were in private. 

“ I only know that you may bless your good fortune that 
you stand in no danger from a wife from thence. 

‘‘Ha!” cried Sidney, laughing, “ you found your lawful 
owner. Why did you not present me?” 

“ I was ashamed of her bold visage.'’^ 

“ What! — was she the beauteous demoiselle I found you 
gallanting,” said Philip Sidney, a good deal entertained, 
who was gazing at y6u with such visible admiration in 
her languishing black eyes?^^ 

“ The foul fiend seize their impudence!” 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


47 


“ Fy! for shame! thus to speak of your own wife/^ said 
the mischievous Sidney, “ and the fairest — 

“ Go to, Sidney. Were she fairer than Venus, with a 
kingdom to her dower, I would none of a woman without a 
blush. 

“ What, in converse with her wedded husband,” said 
Sidney. “ Were not that overshamefastness?^^ 

“ Nay, now, Sidney, in good sooth give me your opinion. 
Should she set her fancy on me, even in this hour, am I 
bound in honor to hold by this accursed wedlock — lock, as 
it may well be called?"'’ 

“ I know no remedy,"" said Sidney, gravely, “ save the 
two enchanted founts of love and hate. They can not be 
far away, since it was at the siege of Paris that Pinaldo and 
Orlando drank thereof. "" 

Another question that Berenger would fain have asked 
Sidney, but could not for very shame and dread of mockery, 
was, whether he himself were so dangerously handsome as, 
the lady had given him to understand. With a sense of 
shame, he caught up the little mirror in his casket, and 
could not but allow to himself that the features he there 
saw were symmetrical — the eyes azure, the complexion of a 
delicate fairness, such as he had not seen equaled, except 
in those splendid Lorranie princes; nor could he judge of 
the further elfect of his open-faced frank simplicity and 
sweetness of expression — contemptible, perhaps, to the 
astute, but most winning to the world-weary. He shook 
his head at tiie fair reflection, smiled as he saw the color 
rising at his own sensation of being a fool, and then threw 
it aside, vexed with himself for being unable not to feel at- 
tracted by the first woman who had shown herself struck 
by his personal graces, and yet aware that this was the very 
thing he had been warned against, and determined to make 
all the resistance in his power to a creature whose very 
beauty and enchantment gave him a sense of discomfort. 


48 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE COHVEHT BIKD. 

Young knight, whatever that dost armes professe, 

And through long labors huntest after fame, 

Beware of fraud, beware of ficklenesse, 

In choice and change of thy beloved dame. 

Spenser, Faery Queene. 

Berehger^s mind was relieved, even while his vanity 
was mortified, when the chevalier and his son came the 
next day to bring him the formal letter requesting the 
Pope^s annullment of his marriage. After he had signed 
it, it was to be taken to Eustacie, and, so soon as he should 
attain his twenty-first year, he was to dispose of Chateau 
Laurre, as well as of his claim to the ancestral castle in 
Picardy, to his cousin Narcisse, and thus become entirely 
free to transfer his allegiance to the Queen of England. 

It was a very good thing — that he well knew; and he had 
a strong sense of virtue and obedience, as lie formed with 
his pen the words in all their fullness, Henri Berenger 
Eustache, Baron de Ribaumont et Seigneur de Leurre. 
He could not help wondering whether the lady who looked 
at him so admiringly really preferred such a mean-looking 
little fop as Narcisse, whether she were afraid of his En- 
glish home and breeding, or whether all this open coquetry 
were really the court manners of ladies toward gentlemen, 
and he had been an absolute simpleton to be flattered. 
Any way, she would have been a most undesirable wife, 
and he was well quit of her; but he did feel a certain lurk- 
ing desire that, since the bonds were cut and he was no 
longer in danger from her, he might see her again, carry 
home a mental inventory of the splendid beauties he had 
fennunced, and decide what was the motive that actuated 
her in rejecting his own handsome self. Meantime, he 
proceeded to enjoy the amusements and advantage of his 
sojourn at Paris, of which by no means the least was the 
society of Philip Sidney, and the charm his brilliant genius 
imparted to every pursuit they shared. Books at the 
university, fencing and dancing from the best professors, 
Italian poetry, French sonnets, Latin epigrams; nothing 


tHE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


49 


came amiss to Sidney, the flower of English youth: and 
Berenger had taste, intelligence, and cultivation enough to 
enter into all in which Sidney led the way. The good tutor, 
after all his miseries on the journey, was delighted to write 
to Lord Walwyn, that, far from being a risk and tempta- 
tion, this visit was a school in all that was virtuous and 
comely. 

If the good man had any cause of dissatisfaction it was 
with the Calvinistic tendencies of the embassador’s house- 
hold. Walsingham was always on the Puritanical side of 
Elizabeth’s court, and such an atmosphere as that of Paris, 
where the Koman Catholic system was at that time show- 
ing more corruption than it has ever done before or since 
in any other place, naturally threw him into sympathy with 
the Reformed. The reaction that half a century later filled 
the Galilean Church with saintliness had not set in; her 
ecclesiastics were the tools of a wicked and blood-thirsty 
court, who hated virtue as much as schism in the men 
whom they persecuted. The Huguenots were for the most 
part men whose instincts for truth and virtue had recoiled 
from the popular system, and thus it was indeed as if piety 
and morality were arrayed on one side, and superstition 
and debauchery on the other. Mr. Adderley thus found the 
tone of the embassador’s chaplain that of far more com- 
plete fellowship with the Reformed pastors than he himself 
was disposed to admit. There were a large number of 
these gathered at Paris; for the lull in persecution that 
had followed the battle of Moncontour had given hopes of a 
final accommodation between the two parties, and many 
had come up to consult with the numerous lay nobility who 
had congregated to witness the King of Navarre’s wedding. 
Among them, Berenger met his father’s old friend, Isaac 
Garden, who had come to Paris for the purpose of giving 
his only surviving son in marriage to the daughter of a 
watch-maker to whom he had for many years been be- 
trothed. By him the youth, with his innocent face and 
gracious respectful manners, was watched with delight, as 
fulfilling the fairest hopes of the poor baron, but the old 
minister would have been sorely disappointed had he known 
how little Berenger felt inclined toward his party. 

The royal one of course Berenger could not love, but the 
rigid bareness, and, as he thought, irreverence of the Cal- 
vinist, and th^ want of all forms, jarred upon one used to 


50 


THE CHArLET OF PEAKLS. 


a ritual which retained much of the ancient form. In the 
early years of Elizabeth, every possible diversity prevailed 
in parish churches, according to the predilections of rector 
and squire; from forms scarcely altered from those of old 
times, down to the baldest, rudest neglect of all rites; and 
Berenger, in his country home, had been used to the first 
extreme. He could not believe that what he heard and 
saw among the Sacrementaires, as they were called, was 
what his father had prized; and he greatly scandalized Sid- 
ney, the pupil of Hubert Languet, by openly expressing his 
distaste and dismay when he found their worship viewed by 
both Walsingham and Sidney as a model to which the En- 
glish Protestants ought to be brought. 

However, Sidney excused all this as mere boyish distaste 
to sermons and love of externals, and Berenger himself re- 
flected little on the subject. The aspect of the venerable 
Coligny, his father’s friend, did far more toward making 
him a Huguenot than any discussion of doctrine. The 
good old admiral received him affectionately, and talked to 
him warmly of his father, and the grave, noble countenance 
and kind manner won his heart. Great j)rojects were on 
foot, and were much relished by the young king, for rais- 
ing an army and striking a blow at Spain by aiding the lie- 
formed in the Netherlands; and Coligny was as ardent as a 
youth in the cause, hoping at once to aid his brethren, to 
free the young king from evil influences, and to strike one 
good stroke against the old national enemy. He talked 
eagerly to Sidney of alliances with England, and then la- 
mented over the loss of so promising a youth as young 
Bibaumont to the Reformed cause in France. If the mar- 
riage with the heiress could have, taken effect, he would 
have obtained estates near enough to some of the main 
Huguenot strongholds to be very important, and these 
would now remain under the power of Narcisse de liibau- 
mont, a determined ally of the Guise faction. It was a 
pity, but the admiral could not blame the youth for obey- 
ing the wish of his guardian grandfather; and he owned, 
with a sigh, that England was a more peaceful land than 
his own beloved country. Berenger was a little nettled at 
this implication, and began to talk of joining the French 
standard in a campaigfn in the Netherlands, but when the 
two young men returned to their present home and described 
the conversation, Walsingham said: 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


51 


“ The admiral's favorite project! lie would do wisely 
not to brag of it so openly. ‘ The King of Spain has too 
many in his interest in this place not to be warned, and to 
he thus further egged on to compass the ruin of Coligny.^' 

“ I should have thought," said Sidney, ‘‘that nothing 
could add to his hatred of the Reformed. " 

“ Scarcely," said Walsingham; “ save that it is they 
who hinder the Duke of Guise from being a good French- 
man, and a foe to Spain." 

Politics had not developed themselves in Berenger's 
mind, and he listened inattentively while Walsingham 
talked over with Sidney the state of parties in France where 
natural national enmity to Spain was balanced by the need 
felt by the queen-mother of the support of that great Ro- 
man Catholic power against the Huguenots; whom Wal- 
singham believed her to dread and hate less for their own 
sake than from the fear of loss of influence over Her son. 
He believed Charles IX. himself to have much leaning 
toward the Reformed, but the late victories had thrown the 
whole court entirely into the power of the Guises, the truly 
unscrupulous partisans of Rome. They were further in- 
flamed against the Huguenots by the assassination of the 
last Duke of Guise, and by the violences that had been 
committed by some of the Reformed party, in especial a 
massacre of prisoners at Nerac. 

Sidney exclaimed that the Huguenots had suffered far 
worse cruelties. 

“ That is true," replied Sir Francis, “but my young 
friend, you will find, in all matters of reprisals, that a party 
has no memory for what it may commit, only for what it 
may receive." 

The conversation was interrupted by an invitation to the 
embassador's family and guests to a tilting-match and sub- 
sequent ball at the Louvre. In the first Berenger did his 
part with credit; to the second he went feeling full of that 
strange attraction of repulsion. He knew gentlemen 
enough in Coligny's suite for it to be likely that he might 
remain unperceived among them, and he knew this would 
be prudent, but he found himself unexpectedly near the 
ranks of ladies, and smile and gesture absolutely drew him 
toward his semi-spouse, so that he had no alternative but 
to lead her out to dance. 

The stately measure was trod in silence as usual, but he 


52 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


felt the dark eyes studying him all the time. However, he 
could bear it better now that the deed was done, and she 
Lad voluntarily made him less to her than any gallant 
parading or mincing about the room. 

“ So you bear the pearls, sir.^^^ she said, as the dance 
finished. 

“ The only heir-loom I shall take with me,'’^ he said, 

“ Is a look at them too great a favor to ask from their 
jealous guardian she asked. 

He smiled, half ashamed of his own annoyance at being 
obliged to place them in her hands. He was sure she would 
try to cajole him out of them, and by way of asserting his 
property in them he did not detach them from the band of 
his black velvet cap, but gave it with them into her hand. 
She looked at each one, and counted them wistfully. 

‘‘Seventeen!” she said; “and how beautiful! I never 
saw them so near before. They are so becoming to that fair 
cheek that I suppose no offer from my — my uncle, on our 
behalf, would induce you to part with them?^^ 

An impulse of open-handed gallantry would have made 
him answer, “ 'No offer from your uncle, but a simple re- 
quest from you;” but he thought in time of the absurdity 
of returning without them, and merely answered, “ I have 
no right to yield them, fair lady. They are the witness to 
my forefather's fame and prowess. ” 

“ Yes, sir, and to those of mine also,” she replied. 
“ And you would take them over to the enemy from whom 
that prowess extorted them?” 

“ The country which honored and rewarded that 
prowess!'’^ replied Berenger. 

She looked at him with an interrogative glance of sur- 
prise at the readiness of bis answer; then, with half a sigh, 
said, “ There are your pearls, sir; I can not establish our 
right, though I verily believe it was the cause of our last 
quarrel;” and she smiled archly. 

“ I believe it was,” he said, gravely; but added, in the 
moment of relief at recovering the precious heir-loom, 
“ though it was Diane who inspired you to seize upon 
them. 

“ Ah! poor Diane! you sometimes recollect her then? If 
I remember right, you used to agree with her better than 
with your little spouse, cousin!” 

“ If I quarreled with her less, I liked her less, answered 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


53 


Berenger — who, since the act of separation, had not been 
so guarded in his demeanor, and began to give way to his 
natural frankness. 

‘‘ Indeed! Uiane would be less gratified than I ought to 
be. And why, may I ask?^^ 

Diane was more caressing, but she had no truth. 

“ Truth! that was what feu Monsieur le Baron ever talk- 
ed of; what Huguenots weary one with.^^ 

f And the only thing worth seeking, the real pearl, 
said Berenger> “ without which all else is worthless.'’^ 

Ah!^^ she said, “ who would have thought that soft, 
youthful face could be so severe! You would never forgive 
a deceit 

Never, he said, with the crystal hardness of youth; 
‘‘ or rather I might forgive; I could never esteem.^’ 

“What a bare, rude world yours must be,^^ she said, 
shivering. “And no weak ones in it! Only the strong 
can dare to be true. 

“ Truth is strength said Berenger. “ For example: I 
see yonder a face without bodily strength, perhaps, but 
with perfect candor. 

“Ah! some Huguenot girl of Madame Catherine % no 
doubt — from the depths of Languedoc, and dressed like a 
fright. ^ 

“ No, no; the young girl behind the pale, yellow-haired 
lady. 

“ Comment, monsieur. Do you not yet know the young 
queen 

“ But who is the young demoiselle — she with the superb 
black eyes, and the ruby rose in her black hair?” 

“ Take care, sir, do' you not know I have still a right to 
be jealous?” she said, blushing, bridling, and laughing. 

But this pull on the cords made him the more resolved ; 
he would not be turned from his purpose. “ Who is she?” 
he repeated, “ have I ever seen her before? I am sure I 
remember that innocent look of espieglerie.” 

“You may see it on any child ^s face fresh out of the con- 
vent; it does not lart a month!” was the still displeased, 
rather jealous answer. “ That little thing — I believe they 
call her Nid-de-Merle — she has only just been brought from 
her nunnery to wait on the young queen. Ah! your gaze 
was perilous, it is bringing on you one of the jests of Ma-. 
dame Marguerite. ” 


54 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAHLS. 


With laughter and gayety, a troop of gentlemen de- 
scended on M. de Ribaumont, and told him that Madame 
Marguerite desired that he should be presented to her. The 
princess was standing by her jDale sister-in-law, Elizabeth 
of Austria, who looked grave and annoyed at the mis- 
chievous mirth flashing in Marguerite’s dark eyes. 

‘‘ M. de Ribaumont, said the latter, her very neck heav- 
ing with suppressed fun, T see I can not do you a greater 
favor than by giving you Mademoiselle de Nid-de-Merle for 
your partner. 

Berenger was covered with confusioji to find that he had 
been guilty of such a fixed stare as to bring all this upon 
the poor girl. He feared that his vague sense of recogni- 
tion had made his gaze more open than he knew, and he 
was really and deeply ashamed of this as his worst act of 
provincial ill-breeding. 

Poor little convent maid, with crimson cheeks, hashing 
eyes, panting bosom, and a neck evidently aching with 
proud dignity and passion, she received his low bow with a 
sweeping courtesy, as lofty as her little person would per- 
mit. 

His cheeks burned like fire, and he would have found 
words to apologize, but she cut him short by saying, has- 
tily and low, ‘‘ Not a word, monsieur! Let us go through 
it at once. No one shall make game of us.'’^ 

He hardly durst look at her again; but as he went 
through his own elaborate paces he knew that the little 
creature opposite was swimming, bending, turning, bound- 
ing with the fluttering fierceness of an angry little bird, 
and that the superb eyes were casting flashes on him that 
seemed to carry him back to days of early boyhood. 

Once he caught a mortified, pleading, wistful glance that 
made him feel as if he had inflicted a cruel injury by his 
thoughtless gaze, and he resolved to plead the sense of rec- 
ognition in excuse; but no sooner was the performance over 
than she prevented all conversation by saying, “ Lead me 
back at once to the queen, sir; she is about to retire. 
They were already so near that there was not time to say 
anything; he could only hold as lightly as possible the tiny 
fingers that he felt burning and quivering in his hand, 
then, after bringing her to the side of the chair of state, he 
was forced to release her with the mere whisper of “ Par- 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


55 


don, mademoiselle;” and the request was not replied to, 
save by the additional stateliness of her courtesy. 

It was already late, and the party was breaking up; but 
his head and heart were still in a whirl when he found him- 
self seated in the embassadorial coach, hearing Lady Wal- 
singham^s well-pleased rehearsal of all the compliments 
she had received on the distinguished appearance of both 
her young guests. Sidney, as the betrothed of her daugh- 
ter, w^as property of her own; but she also exulted in the 
praises of the young Lord de Eibaumont, as proving the 
excellence of the masters whom she had recommended to 
remove the rustic clownishness of which he had been ac- 
cused. 

“Nay,” said Sir Francis; “whoever called him too 
clownish for court spake with design. 

The brief sentence added to Berenger^s confused sense of 
being in a mist of false play. Could his kinsman be bent 
on keeping him from court. ^ Could Narcisse be jealous of 
him? Mademoiselle de Eibaumont was evidently inclined 
to seek him, and her cousin might easily think her lands 
safer in his absence. He would have been willing to hold 
aloof as much as his uncle and cousin coidd wish, save for an 
angry dislike to being duped and cajoled; and, moreover, a 
strong curiosity to hear and see more of that little passion- 
ate bird, fresh from the convent cage. Her gesture and 
her eyes irresistibly carried him back to old times, though 
whether to an angry blackbird in the yew-tree alleys at 
Leurre, or to the eager face that had warned him to save his 
father, he could not remember with any distinctness. At 
any rate, he was surprised to find himself thinking so little 
in comparison about the splendid beauty and winning man- 
ners of his discarded spouse, though he quite believed that, 
now her captive was beyond her grasp, she was disposed to 
catch at him again, and try to retain him, or, as his titil- 
lated vanity might whisper, his personal graces might make 
her regret the family resolution which she had obeyed. 


THE CHAriET OE PEAKES. 


5(J 


CHAPTER YL 

FOULLY COZENED. 

I was the more deceived. — Hamlet. 

The unhappy Charles IX. had a disposition that in good 
hands might have achieved great nobleness; and though 
cruelly hound and trained to'evil, was no sooner allowed to 
follow its natural bent than it reached out eagerly toward 
excellence. At this moment, it was his mother ^s policy to 
appear to leave the ascendency to the Huguenot party, and 
he was therefore allowed to contract friendships which de- 
ceived the intended victims the more completely, because 
his admiration and attachment were spontaneous and sin- 
cere. Philip Sidney^s varied accomplishments and pure 
lofty character greatly attracted the young king, who had 
leaned on his arm conversing during a great part of the 
ball, and the next morning sent a royal messenger to in- 
vite the two young gentlemen to a party at pall-mall in the 
Tuileries gardens. 

Pall-mall was either croquet or its nearest relative, and 
was so much the fashion that games were given in order to 
keep up political influence, perhaps, because the freedom 
of a garden pastime among groves and bowers afforded op- 
portunities for those seductive arts on which Queen Cather- 
ine placed so much dependence. The formal gardens, 
with their squares of level turf and clipped alleys, afforded 
excellent scope both for players and spectators, and numer- 
ous games had been set on foot, from all of which, how- 
ever, Berenger contrived to exclude himself, in his restless 
determination to And out the little Demoiselle de Xid-de- 
Merle, or, at least, to discover whether any intercourse in 
early youth accounted for his undefined sense of remem- 
brance. 

He interrogated the first disengaged person he could find, 
but it was only the young Abbe de Mericour who had been 
newly brought up from Dauphine by his elder brother to 
solicit a benefice, and who knew nobody. To him, ladies 
were only, bright phantoms such as his books had taught 
him to regard like the temptations of St. Anthony, but 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


57 


whom he actually saw treated with as free admiration by 
the ecclesiastic as by the layman. 

Suddenly a clamor of voices arose on the other side of 
the closely clipped wall of limes by which the two youths 
were walking. There were the clear tones of a young 
maiden expostulating in indignant distress, and the ban- 
tering, indolent determination of a male annoyer. 

“ Hark!’’ exclaimed Berenger; this must be seen to.” 

“ Have a care,” returned Mericour; “ I have heard that 
a man needs look twice ere meddling.” 

Scarcely hearing, Berenger strode on as he had done at 
the last village wake, when he had I’escued Cis of the Down 
from the impertinence of a Dorchester scrivener. It was a 
like case, he saw, when breaking through the arch of clipped 
limes he beheld the little Demoiselle de I^id-de-Merle, 
driven into a comer and standing at bay, with glowing 
cheeks, flashing eyes, and hands clasped over her breast, 
while a young man, dressed in the extreme of foppery, was 
assuring her that she was the only lady who had not grant- 
ed him a token — that he could not allow such pensionnaire 
airs, and that now he had caught her he would have liis re- 
venge, and win her rose-colored breastknot. Another gen- 
tleman stood by, laughing, and keeping guard in the walk 
that led to the more frequented part of the gardens. 

“ Hold!” thundered Berenger. 

The assailant had just mastered the poor girl’s hand, but 
she took advantage of his surprise to wrench it away and 
gather herself up as for a spring, but the abbe in dismay, 
the attendant in anger, cried out, ‘‘ Stay — it is monsieur.” 

“ Monsieur; be he who he may,” exclaimed Berenger, 
“ no honest man can see a lady insulted.” 

“ Are you mad? It is Monsieur the Duke of Anjou,” 
said Mericour, pouncing on his arm. 

“ Shall we have him to the guard-house?” added the at- 
tendant, coming up on the other side; but Henri de Va- 
lois waved them both back, and burst into a derisive laugh. 
“ No, no; do you not see who it is? Monsieur the English 
Baron still holds the end of the halter. His sale is not yet 
made. Come away, D’O, he will soon have enough on his 
hands without us. * Farewell, fair lady, another time you 
wiU be free of your jealous giant. 

So saying, the Duke of Anjou strolled off feigning in- 
difference and contempt, and scarcely heeding that he had 


58 


THE (’HAPLl^T OF PEARLS. 


been traversed in one of the malicious adventures which he 
delighted to recount in public before the discomfited vic- 
tim herself, often with shameful exaggeration. 

The girl clasped her hands over her brow with a gesture 
of dismay, and cried, ‘‘Oh! if you have only not touched 
your sword. 

“ Let me have the honor of reconducting you, mademoi- 
selle,^^ said Berenger, offering his hand; but after the first 
sigh of relief, a tempestuous access seized her. She 
seemed about to dash away his hand, her bosom swelled 
with resentment, and with a voice striving for dignity, 
though choked with strangled tears, she exclaimed, “ No, 
indeed! Had not Monsieur le Baron forsaken me, I had 
never been thus treated!’’’ and her eyes flashed through 
their moisture. 

‘ ‘ E ustacie ! You are Eustacie ! ” 

“ Whom would you have me to be otherwise? I have 
the honor to wish Monsieur le Baron a good-morning.” 

“Eustacie! Stay! Hear me! It concerns my honor. 
I see it is you — but whom have I seen? Who was she?” 
he cried, half wild with dismay and confusion. “ Was it 
Diane?” 

“ YouJiave seen and danced with Diane de Ribaumont,” 
answered Eustacie, still coldly; “but what of that? Let 
me go, monsieur; you have cast me off already.” 

“I! when all this has been of your own seeking?” 

“ Mine?” cried Eustacie, panting with the struggle be- 
tween her dignity and her passionate tears. “ I meddled 
not. I heard that Monsieur le Baron was gone to a strange 
land, and had written to break off old ties.” Her face was 
in a flame, and her efforts for composure absolute pain. 

“I!” again exclaimed Berenger. “The first letter 
came from your uncle, declaring that it was your wish!” 
And as her face changed rapidly, “ Then it was not true! 
He has not had your consent?” 

“ What! would I hold to one who despised me — who 
came here and never even asked to see this hated spouse!” 

“ I did! I entreated to see you. I would not sign the 
application till — Oh, there has been treachery! And 
have they made you too. sign it?” 

“ When they showed me your name they were welcome 
to mine.” 

Berenger struck his forehead with wrath and perplexity. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


59 


then cried, joyfully, “ It will not stand for a moment. So 
foul a cheat can be at once exposed. iXistacie, you know 
— you understand, that it was not you but Diane whom I 
saw and detested; and no wonder, when she was acting 
such a cruel treason 

‘‘ Oh, no, Diane would never so treat me,^^ cried Eus- 
tacie. I see how it was! You did not know that my fa- 
ther was latterly called Marquis de Nid-de-Merle, and when 
they brought me here, they would call me after him; they 
said a maid-of-honor must be demoiselle, and my uncle 
said there was only one way in which I could remain Ma- 
dame de Kibaumont! And the name must have deceived 
you. Thou wast always a great dull boy,^^ she added, with 
a sudden assumption of childish intimacy that annihilated 
the nine years since their parting. 

“ Had I seen thee, I had not mistaken for an instant. 
This little face stirred my heart; hers repelled me. And 
she deceived me wittingly, Eustacie, for I asked after her 
by name. 

‘‘ Ah, she wished to spare my embarrassment. And then 
her brother must have dealt with her. 

“ I see,^^ exclaimed Berenger, ‘‘ I am to be palmed off 
thus that thou mayest he reserved for Narcisse. Tell me, 
Eustacie, wast thou willing?^-’ 

“ I hate Narcisse she cried. “ But, oh, I am linger- 
ing too long. Monsieur will make some hateful tale! I 
never fell into his way before, my queen and Madame la 
Comtesse are so careful. Only to-day, as I was attending 
her alone, the king came and gave her his arm, and I had 
to drop behind. I must find her; I shall be missed, she 
added, in sudden alarm. Oh, what will they say?^^ 

“ No blame for being with thy husband, he answered, 
clasping her hand. Thou art mine henceforth. I will 
soon cut our way out of the web thy treacherous kindred 
have woven. Meantime — 

‘‘Hush! There are voices, cried Eustacie in terror, 
and, guided by something he could not discern, she fied 
with the swiftness of a bird down the alley. Following, 
with the utmost speed that might not bear the appearance 
of pursuit, he found that on coming to the turn she had 
moderated her pace, and was more tranquilly advancing to 
a bevy of ladies, who sat perched on the stone steps Tike 


GO 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


great butterflies , sunning themselves^ watching the game, 
and receiving the attentions of their cavaliers. He saw her 
absorbed into the group, and then began to prowl round it, 
in the alleys, in a tumult of amazement and indignation. 
He had been shamefully deceived and cheated, and justice 
he would have! He had been deprived of a thing of his 
own, and he would assert his right. He had been made to 
injure and disown the creature he was bound to protect, 
and he must console her and compensate to her, were it 
only to redeem his honor. He never even thought whether 
he loved her; he merely felt furious at the wrong he had 
suffered and been made to commit, and hotly bent on re- 
covering what belonged to him. He might even have 
plunged down among the ladies and claimed her as his 
wife, if the young Abbe de Mericour, who was two years 
older than he, and far less of a boy for his years, had not 
joined him in his agitated walk. He then learned that all 
the court knew that the daughter of the late Marquis de 
Nid-de-Merle, Comte de Ribaumont, was called by his chief 
title, but that her marriage to himself had been forgotten 
by some and unknown to others, and thus that the first 
error between the cousins had not been wonderful in a 
stranger, since the chevalier^s daughter had always been 
Mile, de Ribaumont. The error once made, Berenger-’s 
’^istaste to Diane had been so convenient that it had been 
carefully encouraged, and the desire to keep him at a dis- 
tance from court and throw him into the background was 
accounted for. The abbe was almost as indignant as Be- 
renger, and assured him both of his sympathy and his dis- 
cretion. 

‘‘ I see no need for discretion,^ ^ said Berenger. “ I shall 
claim my wife in the face of the sun."’^ 

“ Take counsel first, I entreat/^ exclaimed Mericour. 
‘‘ The Ribaumonts have much influence with the Guise 
family, and now you have offended monsieur.^-’ 

“Ah! where are those traitorous kinsmen?^^ cried Be- 
renger. 

“ Fortunately all are gone on an expedition with the 
queen-mother. You will have time to think. I have heard 
my brother say no one ever prospered who offended the 
meanest follower of the house of Lorraine. 

“ I do not want prosperity, I only want my wife. I hope 
I shall never see Paris and its deceivers again. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


61 


“ All! but is it true that you have applied to have the 
marriage annulled atEome?^^ 

“.We were both shamefully deceived. That can be 
nothing. 

“ A decree of his Holiness; you a Huguenot; she an heir- 
ess! All is against you. My friend, be cautious/^ ex- 
claimed the young ecclesiastic, alarmed by his passionate 
gestures. “ To break forth now and be accused of brawl- 
ing in the palace precincts would be fatal — fatal — most 
fatal!^^ 

“lam as calm as possible, returned Berenger. “I 
mean to act most reasonably. I shall stand before the king 
and tell him openly how 1 have beeii tampered with, de- 
manding my wife before the whole court. ^ ^ 

“ Long before you could get so far the ushers would have 
dragged you away for brawling, or for maligning an honor- 
able gentleman. You would have to finish your speech in 
the Bastille, and it would be well if even your English friends 
could get you out alive. ^ ^ 

“ Why, what a place is this!^^ began Berenger; but 
again Mericour entreated him to curb himself; and his 
English education had taught him to credit the house of 
Guise with so much mysterious power and wickedness, that 
he allowed himself to be silenced, and promised to take no 
open measure^till he had consulted the embassador. 

He could not obtain another glimpse of Eustacie, and 
the hours passed tardily till the break up of the party. 
Charles could scarcely release Sidney from his side, and 
only let him go on condition that he should join the next 
day in an expedition to the hunting-chateau of Montpipeau, 
to which the king seemed to look forward as a great holi- 
day and breathing time. 

When at length the two youths did return. Sir Francis 
Walsingham was completely surprised by the usually tract- 
able, well-behaved stripling, whose jiralses he had been 
writing to his old friend, bursting in on him with the out- 
cry, “ Sir, sir, I entreat your counsel! I have been foully 
cozened. 

“ Of how much?’’ said Sir Francis, in a tone of reproba- 
tion. 

“ Of my wife. Of mine honor. Sir, your excellency, I 
crave pardon, if I spoke too hotly, ^ ’ said Berenger, collect- 
ing himself; “ but it is enough to drive a man to frenzy. 


62 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


Sit down, my Lord de Eibaumont. Take breath, and 
let me know what is this coil. What hath thus moved him, 
Mr. Sidney?^^ 

“It is as he says, sir,^^ replied Sidney, who had heard 
all as they returned; “ he has been greatly wronged. The 
Chevalier de Eibaumont not only writ to propose the sepa- 
ration without the lady^s knowledge, l)ut imposed his own 
daughter on our friend as the wife he had not seen since 
infancy.-’^ 

“ There, sir,^^ broke forth Berenger; “ surely if I claim 
mine own in the face of day, no man can withhold her 
from me!^'’ 

“ Hold!"' said Sir Francis. “ What means this passion, 
young sir? Methought you came hither convinced that 
both the religion and the habits in which the young lady 
had been bred up rendered your infantine contract most 
unsuitable. What hath fallen out to make this change in 
your mind?^^ 

“ That I was cheated, sir. The lady who palmed herself 
off on me as my wife was a mere impostor, the chevalier^s 
own daughter 

“ That may be; but what know you of this other lady? 
Has she been bred up in faith or manners such as your 2:>ar- 
ents would have your wife?^'’ 

“ She is my wife,^^ reiterated Berenger. “ My faith is 
plighted to her. That is enough for me. " 

Sir Francis made a gesture of despair. “ He has seen 
her, I suppose,'’^ said he to Sidney. 

“ Yes, truly, sir,^' answered Berenger; “ and found that 
she had been as greatly deceived as myself. ” 

“ Then mutual consent is wanting,^-’ said the statesman, 
gravely musing. 

“ That is even as I say,^'’ began Berenger, but Walsing- 
ham held up liis hand, and desired that he would make 
his full statement in the presence of his tutor. Then sound- 
ing a little whistle, the embassador dispatched a page to 
request the attendance of Mr. Adderley, and recommended 
young Eibaumont in the meantime to compose himself. 

Used to being under authority as Berenger was, the some- 
what severe tone did much to allay his excitement and re- 
mind him that right and reason w^ere so entirely on his 
side, that he had only to be cool and rational to make them 
prevail. He was thus able to give a collected and coherent 


THE CHAPLET OP PEA ELS.' 


63 


account of his discovery that the part of his wife had been 
assumed by her cousin Diane, and that the signature of 
both the young pair to the application to the Pope had 
been obtained on false pretenses. That he had, as Sidney 
said, been foully cozened, in both senses of the word, was as 
clear as daylight; but he was much angered and disap- 
pointed to find that neither the embassador nor his tutor 
could see that Eustacie^s worthiness was proved by the in- 
iquity of her relations, or that any one of the weighty rea- 
sons for the expediency of dissolving the marriage was re- 
moved. The whole affair had been in such good train a 
little before, that Mr. Adderley was much distressed that 
it should thus have been crossed, and thought the new 
phase of affairs would be far from from acceptable at Combe 
Walwyn. 

‘‘ Whatever is just and honorable must be acceptable to 
my grandfather,^’ said Berenger. 

‘‘ Even so,” said Walsingham; “but it were well to 
consider whether j ustice and honor require you to overthrow 
the purpose wherewith he sent you hither.” 

“ Surely, sir, justice and honor require me to fulfill a 
contract to which the other party is constant,” said Be- 
renger, feeling very vvise and prudent for calling that wist- 
ful indignant creature the other party. 

“ That is also true,” said the embassador, “ provided 
she be constant; but you own that she signed the requisi- 
tion for the dissolution. ” 

“ She did so, but under the same deception as myself, 
and further mortified and aggrieved at my seeming faith- 
lessness.” 

“ So it may easily be represented,” muttered Walsing- 
ham. 

“How, sir?” cried Berenger, impetuously; “do you 
doubt her truth?” 

“ Heaven forefend,” said Sir Francis, “ that I should 
discuss any fair lady’s sincerity! The question is how far 
you are bound, llave- I understood you that you are 
veritably wedded, not by4i mere contract of espousal?” 

Berenger could produce no documents, for they had been 
left at Chateau Leurre, and on his father’s death the 
clievalier had claimed the custody of them; but he remem- 
bered enough of the ceremonial to prove that the wedding 


64 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


had been a veritable one, and that only the Pai^al interven- 
tion could annul it. 

Indeed an Englishman, going by English law, would own 
no power in the Pope, nor any one on earth, to sever the 
sacred tie of wedlock; but French courts of law would 
probably ignore the mode of application, and would certain- 
ly endeavor to separate between a Catholic and a heretic. 

I am English, sir, in heart and faith, said Berenger, 
earnestly. ‘‘Look upon me as such, and tell me, am I 
married or single at this moment 

“ Married assuredly. Morels' the pity,^^ said Sir Francis. 

“ And no law of God or man divides us without our own 
consent.'’^ There was no denying that the mutual consent 
of tlie young pair at their present age was all that was 
wanting to complete the inviolability of their marriage con- 
tract. 

Berenger was indeed only eighteen, and Eustacie more 
than a year younger, but there was nothing in their present 
age to invalidate their marriage, for persons of their rank 
were usually wedded quite as young or younger. Walsing- 
ham was only concerned at his old friend ^s disappointment, 
and at the danger of the young man running headlong into 
a connection probably no more suitable than that with 
Diane de Ribaumont would have been. But it was not 
convenient to argue against the expediency of a man^s lov- 
ing his own wife; and when Berenger boldly declared he 
was not talking of love but of justice, it was only possible 
to insist that he should pause and see where true justice 
lay. 

And thus the much perplexed embassador broke up the 
conference with liis hot and angry young guest. 

“ And Mistress Lucy — ?” sighed Mr. Adderley, in rather 
an inapropos fashion it must be ownei; but then he had 
been fretted beyond endurance by his pupil striding up and 
down his room, reviling Diane, and describing Eustacie, 
while he was trying to write these uncomfortable tidings to 
Lord Walwyn. 

“ Lucy! What makes you bring her up to me?^^ ex- 
claimed Berenger. “ Little Dolly would be as much to the 
purpose 

“ Only, sir, no resident at Hurst Walwyn could fail to 
know what has been planned and desired.’’^ 

“ Pshaw!"’ cried Berenger; “ have you not heard that it 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


65 


■was a mere figment, and that I could scarce hare wedded 
Lucy safely, even had this matter gone as you wish? This 
is the luckiest chance that could have befallen her. 

That may be,^" said Mr. Adderley; “ I wish she may 
think so — sweet young lady!’-’ 

‘‘ I tell you, Mr. Adderley, you should know better! 
Lucy has more sense. My aunt, whom she follows more 
than any other creature, ever silenced the very sport of 
semblance of love passages between us even as children, by 
calling them unseemly in one wedded as I am. Brother 
and sister we have ever been, and have loved as such — ay, 
and shall! I know of late some schemes have crossed my 
mother’s mind — ” 

‘‘Yea, and that of others.” 

“ But they have not ruffled Lucy’s quiet nature — trust 
me! And for the rest? What doth she need of me in 
comparison of this poor child? She — like a bit of her own 
gray lavender in the shadiest nook of the walled garden, 
tranquil there — sure not to be taken there, save to company 
with fine linen in some trim scented coffer, whilst this fresh 
glowing rosebud has grown up pure and precious in the 
very midst of the foulest corruption Christendom can show, 
and if I snatch her not from it, I, the only living man who 
can, look you, in the very bloom of her innocence and 
sweetness, what is to be her fate? The very pity of a 
Christian, the honor of a gentleman, would urge me, even 
if it were not my most urgent duty!” 

Mr. Adderley argued no more. When Berenger came to 
his duty in the matter he was invincible, and moreover all 
the more provoking, because he mentioned it with a sort of 
fiery sound of relish, and looked so very boyish all the time. 
Poor Mr. Adderley! feeling as if his trust were betrayed, 
loathing the very idea of a French court lady, saw that his 
pupil had been allured into a headlong passion to his own 
misery, and that of all whose hopes were set on him, yet 
preached to by this stripling scholar about duties and sacred 
obligations! Well might he rue the day he ever set foot in 
Paris. 

Then, to his further annoyance, came a royal messenger 
to invite the Baron de Ribaumont to join the expedition to 
Montpipeau. Of course he must go, and his tutor must be 
left beliind, and who could tell into what mischief he might 
not be tempted! 


66 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


Here, however, Sidney gave the jDOor chaplain some com- 
fort. He believed that no ladies were to be of the party, 
and that the gentlemen were chiefly of the hinge’s new 
friends among the Huguenots, such as Coligny, his son-in- 
law Teligny, Rochefoucauld, and the like, among wljom 
the young gentleman could not fall into any very serious 
harm, and might very possibly be influenced against a 
Roman Catholic wife. At any rate, he would be out of the 
way, and unable to take any dangerous steps. 

This same consideration so annoyed Berenger that he 
would have declined the invitation, if royal invitations could 
have been declined. And in the morning, before setting 
out, he dressed himself point device, and with Osbert be- 
hind him marched down to the Croix de Lorraine, to call 
upon the Chevalier de Ribaumont. He had a very fine 
speech at his tongue’s end when he set out, but a good deal 
of it had evaporated when he reached the hotel, and perhaps 
he was not very sorry not to find the old gentleman 
within. 

On his return, he indited a note to the chevalier, ex- 
plaining that he had now seen his wife, Mme. la Baronne 
de Ribaumont, and had come to an understanding with 
her, by which he found that it was under a mistake that 
the application to the Pope had been signed, and that they 
should, therefore, follow it up with a protest, and act as if 
no such letter had been sent. 

Berenger showed this letter to Walsingham, who, though 
much concerned, could not forbid his sending it. ‘‘ Poor 
lad,” he said to the tutur; ‘‘ ’tis an excellently writ billet 
for one so young. I would it were in a wiser cause. But 
he has fairly the bit between his teeth, and there is no 
checking him while he has this show of right on his side. ” 

And poor Mr. Adderley could only beseech Mr. Sidney to 
take care of him. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE queen’s pastoral. 

Either very gravely gay. 

Or very gayly grave. 

!M. Praed. 

Montpipeau, though in the present day a suburb of 
Paris, was in the sixteenth century far enough from the 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


67 


city to form a sylvan retreat, where Charles IX. could snatch 
a short respite from the intrigues of his court, under pre- 
text of enjoying his favorite sport. Surrounded with his 
favored associates of the Huguenot party, he seemed to 
breathe a purer atmosphere, and to yield himself up to en- 
joyment greater than perhaps his sad life had ever known. 

He rode among his gentlemen, and the brilliant cavalcade 
passed through poplar-shaded roads, clattered through vil- 
lages, and threaded their way through bits of forest still left 
for the royal chase. The people thronged out of their 
houses, and shouted not only ‘‘ Vive le Roy,^^ but ‘' Vive 
TAmiral,^" and more than once the cry was added, 
“ Spanish war, or civil war!^^ The heart of France was, if 
not with tlie Reformed, at least against Spain and the Lor- 
rainers, and Sidney perceived, from the conversation of the 
gentlemen round him,' that the present expedition had 
been devised less for the sake of the sport, than to enable 
the king to take measures for emancipating himself from 
the thralldom of his mother, and engaging the country in a 
war against Philip 11. Sidney listened, but Berenger 
chafed, feeling only that he was being further carried out 
of reach of his explanation with his kindred. And thus 
they arrived at Montpipean, a tower, tall and narrow, like 
all French designs, but expanded on the ground- floor by 
wooden buildings capable of containing the numerous train 
of a royal hunter, and surrounded by an extent of waste 
land, without fine trees, though with covert for deer, boars, 
and wolves sufficient for sport to royalty and death to 
peasantry. Charles seemed to sit^more erect in his saddle, 
and to drink in joy with every breath of the thyme-scented 
breeze, from the moment his horse bounded on the hollow- 
sounding turf; and when he leaped to the ground, with the 
elastic spring of youth, he held out his hands to Sidney and 
to Teligny, crying, “ Welcome, my friends. Here I am in- 
deed a king 

It was a lovely summer evening, early in August, and 
Charles bade the supper to be spread under the elms that 
shaded a green lawn in front of the chateau. Etiquette was 
here so far relaxed as to permit the sovereign to dine with 
his suite, and tables, chairs and benches were brought out, 
drapery festooned in the trees to keep off sun and wind, the 
king lay down in the fern and let his happy dogs fondle 
him, and as a herd-girl passed along a vista in the distance. 


68 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


driving her goats before her, Philip Sidney marveled 
whether it was not even thus in Arcadia. 

Presently there was a sound of horses trampling, wheels 
moving, a party of gayly gilded archers of the guard jingled 
up, and in fheir midst was a coach. Berenger^s heart 
seemed to leap at once to his lips, as a glimpse of ruffs, 
hats, and silks dawned on him through the windows. 

The king rose from his lair among the fern, the admiral 
stood forward, all heads were bared, and from the coach- 
door alighted the young queen ; no longer pale, subdued, 
and indifferent, but with a lace shining with girlish delight, 
as she held out her hand to the admiral. “ Ah! this is 
well, this is beautiful,^^ she exclaimed; ‘‘it is like our 
happy chases in the Tyrol. Ah, sire!’"' to the king, '‘ how 
I thank you for letting me be with you. 

After her majesty descended her gentleman-usher. Then 
came the lady-in-waiting. Mine, de Sauve, the wife of the 
state secretary in attendance on Charles, and a triumjDhant, 
coquettish beauty, then a fat, good-humored Austrian dame, 
always called Mme. la Comtesse, because her German name 
was unpronounceable, and without whom the queen never 
stirred, and lastly a little figure, rounded yet slight, slender 
yet soft and plump, with a kitten-like alertness and grace 
of motion, as she sprung out, collected the queen^s proper- 
ties of fan, kerchief, pouncet-box, mantle, etc., and disap- 
peared into the chateau, without BerengePs being sure of 
anything but that her little black hat had a rose-colored 
feather in it. , • 

The queen was led to a chair and placed under one of the 
largest trees, and there Charles presented to her such of his 
gentlemen as she was not yet acquainted with, the Baron de 
Eibaumont among the rest. 

“ I have heard of Monsieur de Eibaumont,^ ^ she said, in 
a tone that made the color mantle in his fair cheek; and 
with a sign of her hand she detained him at her side till the 
king had strolled away with Mme. la Sauve, and no one 
remained near but her German countess. Then changing 
her tone to one of confidence, which the high-bred homeli- 
ness of lier Austrian manner rendered inexpressibly engag- 
ing, she said, “ I must apologize, monsieur, for the giddi- 
ness of my sister-in-law, which I fear caused you some 
embarrassment. ^ ’ 

“ Ah, madame,^’ said Berenger, kneeling on one knee as 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


69 


she addressed him, and his heart bounding with wild, un- 
defined hope, ‘ ‘ I can not be grateful enough. It was that 
which led to my being undeceived. 

‘‘ It was true, then, that you were mistaken said the 
queen. 

‘‘ Treacherously deceived, madame, by those whose in- 
terest it is to keep us apart, said Berenger, coloring with 
indignation; “ they imposed my other cousin on me as my 
wife, and caused her to think me cruelly neglectful. 

“I know,^^ said the queen. ‘‘ Yet Mademoiselle de 
Eibaumont is far more admired than my little blackbird. 

That may be, madame, but not by me.^'’ 

‘‘ Yet it is true that you came to break off th^ marriage?^ ^ 

“ Yes, madame," said Berenger, honestly, ‘‘but I had 
not seen her.^^ 

“ And now?’^ said the queen, smiling. 

“ I would rather die than give her up," said Berenger. 
“ Oh, madame, help us of your grace. Every one is trying 
to part us, every one is arguing against us, but she is my 
own true wedded wife, and if you will but give her to me, 
all will be well." 

“ I like you. Monsieur de Ribaumont," said the queen, 
looking him full in the face. “ You are like our own honest 
Germans at my home, and I think you mean all you say. 
I had much rather my dear little Nid-de-Merle were with 
you than left here, to become like all the others. She is a 
good little LieUing — how do you call it in French? She 
has told told me all, and truly I would help you with all 
my heart, but it is not as if I were the queen-mother. You 
must have recourse to the king, who loves you well, and at 
my request included you in the hunting-party. " 

Berenger could only kiss her hand in token of earnest 
thanks before the repast was announced, and the king came 
to lead her to the table spread beneath the trees. The 
whole party supped together, but Berenger could have only 
a distant view of his little wife, looking very demure and 
grave by the side of the admiral. 

But when the meal was ended, there was a loitering in 
the woodland paths, amid heathy openings or glades 
trimmed into discreet wildness fit for royal rusticity; the 
sun set in parting glory on one horizon, the moon rising in 
crimson majesty on the other. A musician at intervals 
touched the guitar, and sung Spanish or Italian airs, whose 


70 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


soft or quaint melody came dreamily through the trees. 
Then it was that with beating heart Berenger stole up to 
the maiden as she stood behind the queen, and ventured to 
whisper her name and clasp her hand. 

She turned, their eyes met, and she let him lead her 
apart into the wood. It was not like a lover^s tryst, it was 
more like the continuation of their old childish terms, only 
that he treated her as a thing of his own, that he was bound 
to secure and to guard, and she received him as her own 
lawful but tardy protector, to be treated with perfect reli- 
ance but with a certain pla3rful resentment. 

“ You will not run away from me now,'’^ he said, making 
full prize of Iter hand and arm. 

Ah! is not she the dearest and best of queens?^ ^ and the 
large eyes were lifted up to him in such frank seeking of 
sympathy that he could see into the depths of their clear 
darkness. 

It is her doing then. Though, Eustacie, when I knew 
the truth, not flood nor fire should keep me long from you, 
my heart, my love, my wife.^'’ 

‘‘ What! wife in spite of those villainous letters? she 
said, trying to pout. 

“ Wife forever, inseparably! Only you must be able to 
swear that you knew nothing of the one that brought me 
here. 

“ Poor me! No, indeed! There was Celine carried off 
at fourteen, Madame de Blanchet a bride at fifteen; all 
marrying hither and thither; and I — she pulled a face 
irresistibly droll — ‘‘I growing. old enough to dress St. 
Catherine^’s hair, and wondering where was Monsieur le 
Baron. 


They thought me too young, said Berenger, to take 
on me the cares of life.^^ 

So they were left to me?^^ 

‘‘ Cares! what cares have you but finding 'the queen ^s 


“Little you know!"" -she said, half contemptuous, half 
mortified. 

“ Nay, pardon me, ma mie. Who has troubled you?"" 

“ Ah! you would call it nothing to be beset by Narcisse; 
to be told one"s husband is faithless, till one half believes it; 
to be looked at by ugly eyes; to be liable to be teased any 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


71 


day by Monsieur, or worse^ by that mocking ape, Monsieur 
d'’Alen 9 on, and to have nobody who can or will hinder it.'’^ 

She was sobbing by this time, and he exclaimed, “ Ah, 
would that I could revenge all! Never, never shall it be 
again I What blessed grace has guarded you through all?’^ 

“ Did I not belong to you?^^ she said oxultingly. ‘‘ And 
had not Sister Monique, yes, and Monsieur le Baron, striven 
hard to make me good? Ah, how kind he was!^" 

My father? Yes, Eustacie, h« loved you to the last, 
lie bade me, on his death-bed, give you his own Book of 
Psalms, and tell you he had always loved and prayed for 
you.” 

“ Ah! his Psalms! I shall love them! Even at Bellaise, 
when first we came there, we used to sing them, but the 
Mother Abbess went out visiting, and when she came back 
she said they were heretical. And Seeur Monique would 
not let me say the texts he taught me, but I would not 
forget them. 1 say them often in my heart. 

“ Then,^^ he cried joyfully, ‘‘ you will willingly embrace 
my religion ?^^ 

“ Be a Huguenot?’^ she said distastefully. 

I am not precisely a Huguenot; I do not love them,^^ 
he answered hastily; but all shall be made clear to you at 
my home in England. 

‘‘ England !^^ she said. ‘‘Must we live in England? 
Aw'ay from every one?^^ 

“ Ah, they will love you so much! I shall make you so 
happy there,'’' he answered. “ There you will see what it 
is to be true and trustworthy. " 

“ I had rather live at Chateau Leurre, or my own Nid- 
de-Merle," she replied. “There I should see Soeur 
Monique, and my aunt, the abbess, and we would have the 
peasants to dance in the castle court. Oh! if you could 
but see the orchards at Le Bocage, you ^ould never want to 
go away. And we could come nowand then to see my dear 
queen." 

“ I am glad at least you would not live at court." 

“ Oh, no, I have been more unhappy here than ever I 
knew could be borne." 

And a' very few words from him drew out all that had 
happened to her since they parted. Her father had sent 
her to Bellaise, a convent founded by the first of the 
Angevin branch, which was presided over by his sister, and 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


72 

where Diane was also educated. The good Sister Monique 
had been mistress of the pensionnaircji, and had. evidently 
taken much pains to keep her charge innocent and devout. 
Diane had been taken to court about two years before, but 
Eustacie had remained at the convent till some three 
months since, when she had been appointed maid-of -honor 
to the recently married queen; and her uncle had fetched 
her from Anjou, and had informed her at the same time 
that her young husband had turned Englishman and here- 
tic, and that after a few formalities had been complied 
with, she would become the wife of her cousin Narcisse. 
Now there was no person whom she so much dreaded as 
Narcisse, and when Berenger spoke of him as a feeble fop, 
she shuddered as though she knew him to have something 
of the tiger. 

‘‘Do you remember Benoit?^^ she said; “ poor Benoit, 
who came to Normandy as my laquais ? When I went back 
to Anjou he married a girl from Leurre, and went to aid 
his father at the farm. The poor fellow had imbibed the 
baron’s doctrine — he spread it. It was reported fhat there 
was a nest of Huguenots on the estate. My cousin came 
to break it up with his gendarmes. Oh, Berenger, he 
would hear no entreaties, he had no mercy; he let them 
assemble on Sunday, that they might be all together. He 
fired the house; shot down those who escaped; if a prisoner 
were made, gave him up to the Bishop’s Court. Benoit, 
my poor good Benoit, who used to lead my palfrey, was first 
wounded, then tried, and burned — burned in the place at 
LuqonI I heard Narcisse laugh — ^laugh as he talked of the 
cries of the poor creatures in the conventicle. My own 
people, who loved me! I was but twelve years old, but 
even then the wretch would pay me a half-mocking court- 
esy, as one destined to him; and the more I disdained him 
and said I belonged to you, the more both he and my 
aunt, the abbess, smiled, as though they had their bird in 
a cage; but they left me in peace till my uncle brought me 
to coiiii;, and then all began again; and when they said 
you gave me up, I had no hope, not even of a convent. 
But ah, it is all over now, and I am so happy! You are 
grown so gentle and so beautiful, Berenger, and so much 
taller than I ever figured you to myself, and you look as if 
you could take me up in your arms, and let no harm haj)- 
pen to me. ” 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


73 


“ Never, never shall it!"" said Berenger, feeling all man- 
hood, strength, and love stir within him, and growing many 
years in heart in that happy moment. ‘‘ My sweet little 
faithful wife, never fear again now you are mine. "" 

Alas! poor children. They were a good way from the 
security they had begun to fancy for themselves. Early 
the next morning, Berenger went in his straightforward 
way to the king, thanked him, and requested his sanction 
for at once producing themselves to the court as M. le 
Baron and Mme. la Baronne de Ribaumont. 

At this Charles swore a great oath, as one in perplexity, 
and bade him not go so fast. 

‘‘ See here,"" said he, with the rude expletives only too 
habitual with him; “ she is a pretty little girl, and she and 
her lands are much better with an honest man like you 
than with that pendard of a cousin; but you see he is bent 
on having her, and he belongs to a cut-throat crew that 
halt at nothing. I would not answer for your life, if you 
tempted him so strongly to rid himself of you. "" 

‘‘ My own sword, sire, can guard my life."" 

“ Plague upon your sword! What does the foolish youth 
think it would do against half a dozen poniards and pistols 
in a lane black as hell"s mouth?"" 

The foolish youth ivas thinking how could a king so full 
of fiery words and strange oaths bear to make such an 
avowal respecting his own capital and his own courtiers. 
All he could do was to bow and reply, “ Nevertheless, sire, 
at whatever risk, I can not relinquish my wife; I would 
take her at once to the embassador "s. "" 

‘‘ How, sir!"" interrupted Charles, haughtily and angrily, 
‘‘ if you forget that you are a French nobleman still, I 
should remember it! The embassador may protect his 
own countrymen — none else. "" 

‘‘ I entreat your majesty"s pardon,"" said Berenger, anx- 
ious to retract his false step. ‘‘ It was your goodness and 
the gracious queen "s that made me hope for your sanc- 
tion. "" 

“ All the sanction Charles de Valois can give is yours, 
and welcome,"" said the king, hastily. The sanction of 
the King of France is another matter 1 To say the truth, 
I see no way out of the affair but an elopement."" 

‘‘ Sire!"^ exclaimed the astonished Berenger, whose strict- 


74 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


ly disciplined education had little prepared him for such 
counsel. 

‘‘ Look you! If I made you known as a wedded pair, the 
chevalier and his son would not only assassinate you, but 
down on me would come my brother, and my mothei, and 
Monsieur de Guise, and all their crew, veritably for giving 
the prize out of the mouth of their satellite, but nominally 
for disregarding the Pope, favoring a heretical marriage, 
and I know not what, but, as things go here, I should 
assuredly get the worst of it; and if you made safely oS 
with your prize, no one could gainsay you — I need know 
nothing about it — and lady and lands would be yours with' 
out dispute. You might ride off from the skirts of the forest; 
I would lead the hunt that way, and the three days^ riding 
would bring you to Normandy, for you had best cross to 
England immediately. When she is once there, owned by 
your kindred, Monsieur le Cousin may gnash his teeth a^ 
he will, he must make, the best of it for the sake of the 
honor of his house, and you can safely come back and raise 
her people and yours to follow the Oriflamme when it takes 
the held against Spain. What! you are still discontented? 
Speak out! Plain speaking is a treat not often reserved for 
me.^" 

“ Sire, I am most grateful for your kindness, but I should 
greatly prefer going straightforward. 

“ Peste! Well is it said that a blundering Englishman 
goes always right before him ! There, then ! As your king 
on the one hand, as the friend who has brought you and 
your wife together, sir, it is my command that you do not 
compromise me and embroil greater matters than you can 
understand by pubhcly claiming this girl. Privately I will 
aid you to the best of my ability; pubhcly, I command you, 
for my sake, if you heed not your own, to be silent!'^ 

Berenger sought out Sidney, who smiled at his sur- 
prise. 

“ Do you not see,"’ he said, that the king is your friend, 
and would be very ghid to save the lady’s lands from the 
Guisards, but that he can not say so; he can only befriend 
a Huguenot by stealth. ” 

‘‘ 1 would not be such a king for worlds!” 

However, Eustacie was enchanted. It was like a prince 
and princess in Mere Perinne’s fairy-tales. Could they go 
like a shepherd and shepherdess? " She had no fears — no 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


75 


scruples. Would she not be with her husband? It was 
the most charming frolic in the world. So the king 
seemed to think it, though he was determined to call it all 
the queen ^s doing — the first intrigue of her own, making 
her like all the rest of us — the queen ^s little comedy. He 
undertook to lead the chase as far as possible in the direc- 
tion of Normandy, when the young pair mig^ht ride on to an 
inn, meet fresh horses, and proceed to Chateau Leurre, 
and thence to England. He would himself provide a safe- 
conduct, which, as Berenger suggested, would represent 
them as a young Englishman taking home his young wife. 
Eustacie wanted at least to masquerade as an Englishwom- 
an, and played off all the fragments of the language she 
had caught as a child, but Berenger only laughed at her, 
and said they just fitted the French bride. It was veiy 
pretty to laugh at Eustacie; she made such a droll pretense 
at pouting with her rosebud lips, and her merry velvety 
eyes belied them so drolly. 

Such was to be the queen^s pastoral; but when Elizabeth 
found the responsibility so entirely thrown on her, she be- 
gan to look grave and frightened. It was no doubt much 
more than she had intended when she brought about the 
meeting between the young people; and the king, who had 
planned the elopement, seemed still resolved to make all 
appear her affair. She looked all day more like the grave, 
spiritless being she was at court than like the bright young 
rural queen of the evening before, and she was long in her 
little oratory chapel in the evening. Berenger, who was 
waiting in the hall with the other Huguenot gentlemen, 
thought her devotions interminable since they delayed all 
her ladies. At length, however, a page came up to him, 
and said in a low voice, ‘‘ The queen desires the presence of 
Monsieur le Baron de Eibaumont. 

He followed the messenger, and found himself in the 
little chapel, before a gayly adorned altar, and numerous 
little shrines and niches round. Sidney would have dread- 
ed a surreptitious attempt to make him conform, but 
Berenger had no notion of such perils — he only saw tliat 
Eustacie was standing by the queen^'s chair; the king sat 
carelessly, perhaps a little sullenly, in another chair, and a 
kindly-looking Austrian priest, the queen^s confessor, held 
a book in his hand. 

The queen came to meet him. “For my sake,^^she 


76 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


said, with all her sweetness, “ to ease my mind, I should 
like to see my little Eustacie made entirely your own ere 
you go. Father Meinhard tells me it is safer that, when 
the parties were under twelve years old, the troth should be 
again exchanged. No other ceremony is needed. 

1 desire nothing but to have her made indissolubly 
my own,'’ said Berenger, bowing. 

And the king permits,^ ^ added Elizabeth. 

The king growled out, ‘‘ It is your comedy, madame; I 
meddle not. 

The Austrian priest had no common language with 
Berenger but Latin. He asked a few questions, and on 
hearing the answers, declared that the sacrament of mar- 
riage had been complete, but that — as was often done in 
such cases — he would once more hear the troth-plight of 
the young pair. The brief formula was therefore at once 
exchanged — the king, when the queen looked entreatingly 
at him, rousing himself to make the bride over J;o Berenger. 
As soon as the vows had been made, in the briefest manner, 
the king broke in boisterously: ‘‘ There, you are twice 
married, to please madame there; but hold your tongues 
all of you about this scene in the play. • 

Then almost pushing Eustacie over to Berenger, he add- 
ed, There she is! take your wife, sir: but mind, she was 
as much yours before as she is now.^’ 

But for all Berenger had said about “ his wife,"’^ it was 
only now that he really her his own, and became hus- 
band rather than lover — man instead of boy. She was en- 
tirely his own now, and he only desired to be away with 
her; but some days^ delay was necessary. A chase on the 
scale of the one that was to favor their evasion could not be 
got up without some notice; and, moreover, it was neces- 
sary to procure money, for neither Sidney nor Eibaumont 
had more than enough with them for the needful liberalities 
to the hinge’s servants and huntsmen. Indeed Berenger 
had spent all that remained in his purse upon the wares of 
an Italian peddler whom he and Eustacie met in the woods, 
and whose gloves “as sweet as fragrant posies,’^ fans, 
scent-boxes, pocket mirrors, Genoa wire, Venice chains, 
and other toys, afforded him the means of making’ up the 
gifts that he wished to carry home to his sisters; and Eus- 
tacie’s counsel was merrily given in the choice. And when 
the vender began with a meaning smile to recommend to 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


77 


the young pair themselves a little silver-netted heart as a 
love-token, and it turned out that all Berenger^s money 
was gone, so that it could not be bought without giving uj) 
the scented casket destined for Lucy, Eustacie turned with 
her sweetest proudest smile, and said, “ No, no; I will not 
have it; what do we two want with love-tokens now?^^ 

Sidney had taken the youthful and romantic view of the 
case, and considered himself to be taking the best possible 
care of his youn^ friend, by enabling him to deal honorably 
with so charming a little wife as Eustacie. Embassador 
and tutor would doubtless be very angry; but Sidney could 
judge for himself of the lady, and he therefore threw him- 
self into her interests, and sent his servant back to Paris to 
procure the necessary sum for the journey of Master Henry 
Berenger and Mistress Mary, his wife. Sidney was, on his 
return alone to Paris, to explain all to the elders, and 
pacify them as best he could ; and his servant was already 
the bearer of a letter from Berenger that was to be sent at 
once to England with Walsingham^s dispatches, to prepare 
Lord Walwyn for the arrival of tire runaways. The poor 
boy labored to be impressively calm and reasonable in his 
explanation of the misrepresentation, and of his strong- 
grounds for assuming his rights, with his persuasion that 
his wife would readily join the English Church — a consider- 
ation that he knew would greatly smooth the way for her. 
Indeed, his own position was impregnable: nobody could 
blame him for taking his own wife to himself, and he was 
so sure of her charms, that he troubled himself very little 
about the impression she might make on his kindred. If 
they loved her, it was all right; if not, he could take her 
back to his own castle, and win fame and honor under the 
banner of France in the Low Countries. As to Lucy This- 
tlewood, she was far too discreet to feel any disappointment 
or displeasure; or if she should, it was her own fault and 
that of his mother, for all her life she had known him to 
be married. So he finished his letter with a message that 
the bells should be ready to ring, and that when Philip 
heard three guns fired on the coast, he might light the big 
beacon pile above the combe. 

Meantime “ the Queen ^s Pastoral was much relished 
by all the spectators. The state of things was only avowed 
to Charles, Elizabeth, and Phihp Sidney, and even the last 
did not know of the renewed troth which the king chose to 


78 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


treat as such a secret; but no one had any doubt of the 
mutual relations of M. de Ribauniont and Mile, de Nid-de- 
Merle, and their dream of bliss was like a pastoral for the 
special diversion of the holiday of Montpipeau. The trans- 
parency of their indifference in company, their meeting 
eyes, their trysts with the secrecy of an ostrich, were the 
subjects of constant amusement to the elders, more 
especially as the shyness, blushes, and caution were much 
more on the side of the young husband than on that of the 
lady. Fresh from her convent, simple with childishness 
and innocence, it was to her only the natural completion of 
her life to be altogether Berenger’s, and the brief conceal- 
ment of their full union added a certain romantic enchant- 
ment, which added to her exultation in her victory over her 
cruel kindred. She had been upon her own mind, poor 
child, for her few weeks of court life, but not long 
enough to make her grow older, though just so long 
as to. make the sense of having her own protector with her 
doubly precious. He, on the other hand, though full of 
happiness, did also feel constantly deepening on him the 
sense of the charge and responsibility he had assumed, 
hardly knowing how. The more dear Eustacie became to 
him, the more she rested on him and became entirely his, 
the more his boyhood and insouciance drifted away behind 
him; and while he could hardly bear to have his darling a 
moment out of his sight, the less he could endure any re- 
mark or jest upon his affection for her. His home had 
been a refined one, where Cecily ^s convent purity seemed 
to diffuse an atmosphere of modest reserve such as did not 
prevail in the court of the Maiden Queen herself, and the 
lad of eighteen had not seen enough of the outer world to 
have rubbed off any of that grace. His seniority to his 
little wife seemed to show itself chiefly in his being put out 
of countenance for her, when she was too innocent and too 
proud of her secret matronhood to understand or resent 
the wit. 

Little did he know that this was the ballet-like interlude 
in a great and terrible tragedy, whose first act was being 
played out on the stage where they, schemed and sported, 
like their own little drama, which was all the world to 
them, and nothing to the others. Berenger knew indeed 
that the admiral was greatly rejoiced that the Nid-de-Merle 
estates should go into Protestant hands, and that the old 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


79 


gentleman lost no op^^ortunity of impressing on him that 
they were a heavy trust, to be used for the benefit of ‘‘ the 
rehgion, and for the support of the king in his better 
mind. ^ But it may be feared that he did not give a very 
attentive ear to all this. He did not like to think of those 
estates; he would gladly have left them all to Narcisse, so 
that he might have their lady, and though quite willing to 
win his spurs under Charles and Ooligny against the Span- 
iard, his heart and head were far too full to take in the 
web of politics. Sooth to say, the elopement in prospect 
seemed to him infinitely more important than Pope or 
Spaniard, Guise or Huguenot, and Ooligny observed with 
a sigh to Teligny that he was a good boy, but nothing but 
the merest boy, with eyes open only to himself. 

When Charles undertook to rehearse their escape with 
them, and the queen drove out in a little high-wheeled litter 
with Mme. la Comtesse, while Mme. de Sauve and Eus- 
tacie were mounted on gay palfreys with the pommeled 
side-saddle lately invented by the queen-mother, Berenger, 
as he watched the fearless horsemanship and graceful bear- 
ing of his newly won wife, had no speculations to spend on 
the thoughtful face of the admiral. And when at the out- 
skirts of the wood the hinge’s bewildering hunting-horn — 
sounding as it were now here, now there, now low, now 
high — called every attendant to hasten to its summons, 
leaving the young squire and damsel errant with a long 
winding high-banked lane before them, they reckoned the 
dispersion to be all for their sakes, and did not note, as did 
Sidney ^s clear eye, that when the entire company had come 
straggling home, it was the king who came up with Mme. 
de Sauve almost the last; and a short space after, as if not 
to appear to have been with him, appeared the admiral and 
his son-in-law. 

Sidney also missed one of the admirals most trusted at- 
tendants, and from this and other symptoms he formed his 
conclusions that the king had scattered his followers as 
much for the sake of an unobserved conference with 
Coligny as for the convenience of the lovers, and that let- 
ters had been dispatched in consequence of that meeting. 

Those letters were indeed of a kind to change the face of 
affairs in France. Marshal Strozzi, then commanding in 
the south-west, wa*s bidden to embark at La Rochelle in the 
last week of August, to hasten to the succor of the Prince 


80 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


of Orange against Spain, and letters were dispatched by 
Coligny to all the Huguenot partisans bidding them assem- 
ble at Melun on the 3d of September, when they would be 
in the immediate neighborhood of the cou^’t, which was 
bound for Fontainebleau. Was the star of the Guises 
indeed waning? Was Charles about to escape from their 
hands, and .commit himself to an honest, high-minded 
policy, in wliich he might have been able to purify his 
national Church, and win back to her those whom her cor- 
ruptions had driven to seek truth and morality beyond her 
pale? 

Alas! there was a bright pair of eyes that saw more than 
Philip Sidney^ s, a pair of ears that heard more, a tongue 
and pen less faithful to guard a secret. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

“le BROUILLOH.-’^ 

But never more the same two sister pearls 
Ran down the silken thread to kiss each other, 

Tennyson. 

Berenger was obliged to crave permission from the king 
to spend some hours in riding with Osbert to the first hostel 
on their way, to make arrangements for the relay of horses 
that was to meet them there, and for the reception of Vero- 
nique, Eustacie’s maid, who was to be sent ofi very early 
in the morning on a pillion behind Osbert, taking with her 
the articles of dress that would be wanted to change her 
mistress from the huntress maid-of -honor to the English 
dame. 

It was not long after he had been gone that a sound of 
wheels and trampling horses was heard in one of the forest 
drives. Charles, who was amusing himself with shooting 
at a mark together with Sidney and Teligny, handed his 
weapon to an attendant, and came up with looks of restless 
anxieby to his queen, who was placed in her chair under the 
tree, with the admiral and her ladies round her, as judges 
of the prize. 

‘‘ Here is Ze hrouillon,” \\q muttered. ‘‘I thought we 
had been left in peace too long. 

Elizabeth, who Brantorne says was water, while her hus- 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


81 


band was fire, tried to murmur some hopeful suggestion; 
and poor little Eustacie, clasping her hands, could scarcely 
refrain from uttering the cry, “ Oh, it is my uncle! Do 
not let him take me!^^ 

The next minute there appeared four horses greatly heated 
and jaded, drawing one of the court coaches; and as it 
stopped at the castle gate, two ladies became visible within 
it — the portly form of Queen Catherine, and on the back- 
seated the graceful figure of Diane de Ribaumont. 

Charles swore a great oath under his breath. He made 
a step forward, but then his glance falling on Eustacie^s 
face, which had flushed to the rosiest hue of the carnation, 
he put his finger upon his lip with a menacing air, and 
then advanced to greet his mother, followed by his gentle- 
men. 

‘‘ Fear not, my dear child, said the young queen, tak- 
ing Eustacie^ s arm as she rose for the same purpose. 
‘‘ Obey the king, and he will take care that all goes well. 

The gentle Elizabeth was, however, the least regarded 
member of the royal family. Her mother-in-law liad not 
even waited to greet her, but had hurried the king into his 
cabinet, with a precipitation that made the young queen’s 
tender heart conclude that some dreadful disaster had 
occurred, and before Mile, de Ribaumont had had time to 
make her reverence, she exclaimed, breathlessly, “ Oh, is 
it ill news? Not from Vienna?” 

“No, no, madame; reassure yourself,” replied Diane; 
“ it is merely that her majesty being on the way to Mon- 
ceaux with niesdames turned out of her road to make a fly- 
ing visit to your graces, and endeavor to persuade you to 
make her pjirty complete. ” 

Elizabetli looked as if questioning with herself if this 
would pDSsibly be the whole explanation. Monceaux was a 
castle belo/iging to the queen dowager at no great distance 
from Monipipeau* but there had been no intention of leav- 
ing Paris before the wedding, which was flxed for the 
seven teenjh of August, and the bridegroom was daily ex- 
pected. She asked who was the party at Monceaux, and 
wn,H told If, hat Mme. de Nemours had gone thither the 
r son, M. de Guise, to make ready; 



escorting thither his two sisters. 


Mme. de Lorraine and Mme. Marguerite. The queen- 
mother lad set out before them very early in the morning. 


82 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


“Yon must have made great speed/^ said Elizabeth; 
“ it is scarcely two o^clock.'’^ 

“ Truly we did, madame; two of our horses even died 
upon the road; but the queen was anxious. to find the king 
ere he should set off on one of his long chases. 

Diane, at every spare moment, kept her eyes interroga- 
tively fixed on her cousin, and evidently expected that the 
' taciturn queen, to wliom a long conversation, in any 
language but Spanish, was always a grievance, would soon 
dismiss them both; and Eustacie did not know whether to 
be thankful or impatient, as Elizabeth, with tardy, hesitat- 
ing, mentally translated speech, inquired into every cir- 
cumstance of the death of the poor horses, and then into 
all the court gossip, which she was currently supposed 
neither to hear nor.understand; and then bethought herself 
that this good Mile, de Eibaumont could teach her that 
embroidery stitch she had so long wished to learn. Taking 
her arm, she entered the hall, and produced her work, so 
as effectually to prevent any communication between the 
cousins; Eustacie, meanwhile her heart clinging to her 
friend, felt her eyes filling with tears at the thoughts of 
how unkind her morrow^s flight would seem without one 
word of farewell or of confidence, and was already devising 
tokens of tenderness to be left behind for Diane^s consola- 
tion, when the door of the cabinet opened, and Catherine 
sailed down the stairs, with her peculiar gliding step and 
sweep of dignity. The king followed her witfi a face of ir- 
resolution and distress. He was evidently under her dis- 
pleasure; but she advanced to the young queen with much 
graciousness, and an air of matronly solicitude. 

“ My daughter,^^ she said, “ I have just assui-ed the king 
that I can not leave you in these damp forests. I could not 
be responsible for the results of the exposure aay longer. 
It is for him to make his own arrangements, but I brought 
my coach empty ‘on purposes to transport you and your 
ladies to Monceaux. The women may follow with the 
mails. You can be ready as soon as the horses are har- 
nessed.^-’ 

Elizabeth was used to passiveness. She turned one in- 
quiring look to her husband, but he looked suLen, and, 
evidently cowed by his mother, uttered not a word. She 
could only submit, and Catherine herself added tiiat there 
was room for Mme. de Sauve and Mile, de Nid-dc-Merle. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


83 


Mme. la Comtesse should follow! It was self-evident that 
jpropriety would not admit of the only demoiselle being left 
behind among the gentlemen. Poor Eustacie, she looked 
mutely round as if she hoped to escape! What was the 
other unkindness to this? And ever under the eyes of 
Diane too, who followed her to their chamber, when she 
went to prepare, so that she could not even leave a token 
for him where he would have been most certain to find it. 
Moments were few; but at the very last, while the queens 
were being handed in the carriage, she caught the eye of 
Philip Sidney. He saw the appealing look, and came near. 
She tried to laugh. “ Here is my gage. Monsieur Sidney, 
she said, and held out a rose-colored knot of ribbon; then, 
as he came near enough, she whispered imploringly three 
of her few English words — 

“ Give to Um,^^ 

I take the gage as it is meant, said Sidney, putting a 
knee to the ground, and kissing the trembling fingers, ere 
he handed her into the carriage. He smiled and waved his 
hand as he met her earnest eyes. One bow contained a 
scrap of paper pricked with needle-holes. Sidney would 
not have made out those pricks for the whole world, even 
had he been able to do more than hastily secure the token, 
before the unhappy king, with a paroxysm of violent inter- 
jections, demanded of him whether the Queen of England, 
woman though she were, ever were so beset, and never 
allowed a moment to herself; then, without giving time for 
an answer, he flung away to his cabinet, and might be heard 
pacing up and down there in a tempest of perplexity. He 
came forth only to order his horse, and desire M. de Sauve 
and a few grooms to be ready instantly to ride with him. 
His face was full of pitiable perplexity — the smallest ob- 
stacle was met with a savage oath; and he was evidently in 
all the misery of a weak yet passionate nature, struggling 
with impotent violence against a yoke that evidently mas- 
tered it. 

He flung a word to his guests that he should return ere 
night, and they thus perceived that he did not intend their 
dismissal. 

“ Poor youth,"^ said Coligny, mildly, he will be 
another being when we have him in our camp with the 
King of Navarre for his companion.’’^ 

And then the admiral repaired to his chamber to write 


84 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


one of his many fond letters to the young wife of his old 
^ge; while his son-in-law and Philip Sidney agreed to ride 
on, so as to meet poor young Ribaumont, and prepare him 
for the blow that had befallen him personally, while they 
anxiously debated what this sudden descent of the queen- 
mother might portend. Teligny was ready to believe in 
any evil intention on her part, but he thought himself cer- 
tain of the king^s real sentiments, and in truth Charles had 
never treated any man with such confidence as this young 
Huguenot uoble, to whom he had told his opinion of each 
of his counselors, and his complete distrust of. all. That 
pitjnng affection which clings to those who cling to- it, as 
well as a true French loyaltj of heart, made Teligny fully 
believe that however Catherine might struggle to regain 
her ascendency, and whatever apparent relapses might be 
caused by .Charleses habitual subjection to her, yet the high 
aspirations and strong sense of justice inherent in the king 
were asserting themselves as his youth was passing into 
manhood; and that the much desired war would enable 
him to develop all his higher qualities. Sidney listened, 
partially agreed, talked of caution, ^nd mused within him- 
self whether violence might not sometimes be mistaken for 
vigor. 

Ere long, the merry cadence of an old English song fell 
with a home-like sound upon Sidney’s ear, and in another 
moment they were in sight of Berenger, trotting joyously 
along, with a bouquet of crimson and white heather- 
blossoms in his hand, and his bright young face full of ex- 
ultation in his arrangements. He shouted gayly as he saw 
them, calling out, “ I thought I should meet you! but I 
wondered not to have heard the hinge’s bugle-horn. Where 
are the rest of the hunters? 

“ Unfortunately we have had another sort of hunt to- 
day,^ ^ said Sidney, who had ridden forward to meet him; 
“ and one that, I fear, will disquiet you greatly. ’^ 

“ How! Not her uncle?^^ exclaimed Berenger. 

‘‘ Np, cheer up, my friend, it was not she who was the 
object of the chase; it was this unlucky king,^’ he added, 
speaking English, “ who has been run to earth by his 
mother. 

‘‘ Nay, but what is that to me?’^ said Berenger, with im- 
patient superiority to the affairs of the nation. “ How does 
it touch us?’^ 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKIS. 


So 


Sidney related the abstraction of the young queen and 
her ladies, and then handed over the rose-colored token, 
which Berenger took with vehement ardor; then his feat- 
ures quivered as he read the needle-pricked words— two 
that he had playfully insisted on her speaking and spelling 
after him in his adopted tongue, then not vulgarized, but 
the tend erest m the language, “Sweet heart.” That was 
all, but to him they conveyed constancy to him and his, 
whatever might betide, and an entreaty not to leave her to 
her fate. 

“ My dearest! never!” he muttered; then turning hastily 
as he put the precious token into his bosom, he exclaimed, 
“ Are their women yet gone?” and being assured that they 
were not departed when the two friends had set out, he 
pushed his horse on at speed, so as to be able to send a re- 
ply by Veronique. He was barely in time: the clumsy 
wagon-like conveyance of the waiting-women stood at the 
door of the castle, in course of being packed with the 
queen ^s wardrobe, amid the janglings of lackeys, and ex- 
postulating cries of femmes de ciiambre, all in the worst 
possible humor at being crowded up with their natural ene- 
mies, the household of the queen-mother. 

Veronique, a round-faced Angevin girl — who, like her 
lady, had not parted with all her rustic simplicity and hon- 
esty, and who had been necessarily taken into their confi- 
dence — was standing apart from the whirl of confusion, 
holding the leashes of two or three little dogs that had been 
confided to her care, that their keepers mieht with more 
ease throw themselves into the mUee. Her face lighted up 
as she saw the Baron de Ribaumont arrive. 

“ Ah, sir, madame will be so happy that I have seen 
monsieur once more,” she exclaimed under her breath, as 
he approached her. 

“ Alas! there is not a moment to write,^^ he said, look- 
ing at the vehicle, already fast filling, “ but give her these 
fiowers; they were gathered for her; give her ten thousand 
thanks for her token. Tell her to hold firm, and that 
neither king nor queen, bolt nor bar, shall keep me from 
her. Tell her, our watchword is hope. ” 

The sharp eyes of the duenna of the queen^s household, 
a rigid Spanish dame, were already searching for stray 
members of her flock, and Veronique had to hurry to her 
place, while Berenger remained to hatch new plans, each 


86 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


wilder than the last, and torment himself with guesses 
whether his project had been discovered. Indeed, there 
were moments when he fancied the frustration of his pur- 
pose the special object of Queen Catherine's journey, but 
he had the wisdom to keep any such suggestion to himself. 

The king came back by supper-time, looking no longer 
in a state of indecision, but pale and morose. He spoke to 
no one as he entered, and afterward took his place at the 
head of the supper-table in silence, which he did not break 
till the meal was nearly over. Then he said abruptly. 

Gentlemen, our party has been broken up, and I imagine 
that after our great hunt to-morrow, no one will have any 
objection to return to Paris. We shall have merrier sport 
at Fontainebleau when this most troublesome of weddings 
is over. ” 

■ There was nothing to be done but to bow acquiescence, 
and the king again became grimly silent. After supper he 
challenged Coligny to a game of chess, and not a word 
passed during the protracted contest, either from the com- 
batants or any other person in the hall. It was as if the 
light had suddenly gone out to others besides the disap- 
pointed and anxious Berenger, and a dull shadow had fall- 
en on the place only yesterday so lively, joyous, and hope- 
ful. 

Berenger, chained by the etiquette of the royal pres- 
ence, sat like a statue, his back against the wall, his arms 
crossed on his breast, his eyes fixed, chewing the cud of the 
memories of his dream of bliss, or striving to frame the 
future to his will, and to decide what was the next reason- 
able step he could take, or whether his irrepressible longing 
to ride straight off to Monceaux, claim his wife, and take 
her on horseback behind him, were a mere impracticable 
vision. 

The king, having been checkmated twice out of three 
times by the admiral, too honest a man not truly to accept 
his declaration of not wanting courtly play, pushed away 
the board, and was attended by them all to his couclieVy 
which was usually made in public; and the queen being ab- 
sent, the gentlemen were required to stand around him till 
he was ready to fall asleep. He did not seem disposed to 
talk, but begged Sidney to fetch his lute, and sing to him 
some English airs that had taken liis fancy much when 
sung by Sidney and Berenger together. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


87 


Berenger felt as if they would choke him in his present 
turbid state of resentful uncertainty; but even as the un- 
happy young king spoke, it was with a heavy, restless 
groan, as he added, “ If you know any lullaby that will 
give rest to a wretch tormented beyond bearing, let us 
have it. ” 

‘‘ Alas, sire!’^ said the admiral, seeing that no, perilous 
ears remained in the room; there are better and more 
• soothing words than any mundane melody. 

Peste I My good fathei;,^^ said the king petulantly, 
‘‘ has not old Phlipote, my nurse, rocked me to the sound 
of your Marok’s Psalms, and crooned her texts over me? I 
tell you I do not want to think. I want what will drive 
thought away — to dull — ^ ^ 

“ Alas! what dulls slays, said the admiral. 

‘‘ Let it. Nothing can be worse than the present,^^ said 
the wretched Charles; then, as if wishing to breakaway 
from Coligny, he threw himself round toward Berenger, 
and said, ‘‘ Here; stoop down, Ribaumont; a word with 
you. Your matters have gone up the mountains, as the 
Italians say, with mine. But never fear. Keep silence, 
and you shall have the bird in your hand, only you must be 
patient. Hold! I will make you and Monsieur Sidney 
gentlemen of my bed-chamber, which will give you the 
entree of the Louvre; and if you can not get her out of it 
without an ^daty then you must be a much duller fellow 
than half my court. Only that it is not their own wives 
that they abstract. 

With this Berenger must needs content himself; and the 
certainty of the poor king’s good will did enable liim to do 
his part with Sidney in the songs that endeavored to soothe 
the torments of the evil spirit which had on that day 
effected a fresh lodgment in that weak, unwilling heart. 

It was not till the memoirs of the secret actors in this 
tragedy were brought to light that the key to these doings 
was discovered. M. de Sauve, Charles’s secretary, had dis- 
closed his proceedings to his wife; she, flattered by the at- 
tentions of the Duke of Anjou, betrayed them to him; and 
the queen-mother, terrified at the change of policy, and the 
loss of the power she had enjoyed for so many years, had 
hurried to the spot. 

Her influence over her son resembled the fascination of a 
snake; once within her reach he was unable to resist her; 


88 THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 

arid when in their tete-a-tete she reproached him with ill- 
faith toward her, prophesied the overthrow of the Church, 
the desertion of his allies, the ruin of his throne, and finally 
announced her intention of hiding her head in her own 
hereditary estates in Auvergne, begging, as a last favor, 
that he would give his brother time to quit France instead 
of involving him in his own ruin, the poor young maiFs 
whole soul was in commotion. His mother knew her 
s^fcrength, left the poison to work, and withdrew m displeas- 
ure to Monceaux, sure that, as in effect happened, he would 
not be long in following her, imploring her not to abandon 
him, and making an unconditional surrender of himself, his 
conscience, and his friends into her hands. Duplicity was 
so entirely the element of the court, that, even while thus 
yielding himself ,^t was as one checked, but continuing the 
game; he still continued his connection with the Hugue- 
nots, hoping to succeed in his aims by some future counter- 
intrigue; and his real hatred of the court policy, and the 
genuine desire to make common cause with them, served 
his mother^ s purpose completely, since his cajolery thus be- 
came sincere. Her purpose was, probably, not yet formed. 
It was power that she loved, and hoped to secure by the 
intrigues she had played off all her life; but she herself was 
in the hands of an infinitely more blood-thirsty and zealous 
faction, who could easily accomplish their ends by working 
on the womanly terrors of an unscrupidous mind. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE WEDDING WITH CKIMSON FAVORS. 

And trust me not at all or all in all. 

Tennyson. 

So extensive was the Louvre, so widely separated the 
different suites of apartments, that Diane and I^ustacie had 
not met after the pall-mall party till they sat opposite to 
their several queens in the coach driving through the wood, 
the elder cousin curiously watching the eyes of the younger, v 
so wistfully gazing at the window, and now and then rap- 
idly winking as though to force back a rebellious tear. 

The cousins had been bred up together in the convent at 
Bellaise, and had only been separated by Diane’s "liaving 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


89 


been brought to court two years sooner than Eustacie. 
They had always been on very kindly, affectionate terms: 
Diane treating her little cousin with the patronage of an 
elder sister, and greatly contributing to shield her from the 
temptations of the court. The elder cousin was so much 
the more handsome, brilliant, and admired, that no notion 
of rivalry had crossed her mind; and Eustacie ^s inherit- 
ance was regarded by her as reserved for her brother, and 
the means of aggrandizement and prosperity for herself and 
her father. !She looked upon the child as a sort of piece of 
property of the family, to be guarded and watched over for 
her brother; and when' she had first discovered the error 
that the young baron was making between the two daugh- 
ters of the house, it was partly in kindness to Eustacie, 
partly to carry out her father^s plans, and partly from her 
own pleasure in conversing with anything so candid and 
fresh as Berenger, that she had maintained the delusion. 
Her father believed himself to have placed Berenger so en- 
tirely in the background, that he would hardly be at court 
long enough to discover the imposition; and Diane was not 
devoid of a strong hope of winning his affection and bending 
his will so as to induce him to become her husband, and 
become a French courtier for her sake — a wild dream, but 
a better castle in the air than she had ever yet indulged in. 

This arrangement was, however, disconcerted by the 
king^s passion for Sidney ^s society, which brought young 
Ribaumont also to court; and at the time of the mischiev- 
ous introduction by Mme. Marguerite, Diane had perceived 
that the mistake would soon be found out, and that she 
should no longer be able to amuse herself with the fresh- 
colored, open-faced boy who was so unlike all her former 
acquaintance; but the magnetism that shows a woman 
when she produces an effect had been experienced by her, 
and she had been sure that a few efforts more would warm 
and mold the wax in her fingers. That he should prefer a 
little brown thing, whose beauty was so inferior to her own, 
had never crossed her mind ; she did not even know that he 
was invited to the pall-mall party, and was greatly taken by 
surprise when her father sought an interview with her, ac- 
cused her of betra3dng their interests, and told her that this 
foolish young fellow declared that he had been mistaken, 
and having now discovered his veritable wife, protested 
against resigning her. 


90 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


By that time the whole party were gone to Montpipeau, 
hut that the baron was among them was not known at the 
Louvre until Queen Catherine, who had always treated 
Diane as rather a favored, quick-witted protegee, com- 
manded her attendance, and on her way let her know that 
Mme. de Sauve had reported that, among all the follies 
that were being perpetrated at the hunting-seat, the young 
queen was absolutely throwing the little Nid-de-Merle into 
the arms of her Huguenot husband, and that if measures 
were net promptly taken all the great estates in the Bocage 
would he lost to the young chevaher, and he carried over 
to the Huguenot interest. 

Still Diane could not believe that it was so much a mat- 
ter of love as that the youth had begun to relish court fa- 
vor and to value the inheritance, and she could quite be- 
lieve her little cousin had been flattered by a few attentions 
that had no meaning in them. She was not prepared to 
find that Eustacie shrunk from her, and tried to avoid a 
private interview. In truth, the poor child had received 
such injunctions from the queen, and so stern a warning 
look from the king, that she durst not utter a syllable of 
the evening that had sealed her lot, and was so happy with 
her secret, so used to tell everything to Diane, so longing 
to talk of her husband, that she was afraid of betraying 
herself if once they were alone together. Yet Diane, 
knowing that her father trusted to her to learn how far 
things had gone, and piqued at seeing the transparent lit- 
tle creature, now glowing and smiling with inward bliss, 
now pale, pensive, sighing, and anxious, and scorning her 
as too childish for the love that she seemed to affect, was 
resolved on obtaining confidence from her. 

And when the whole female court had sat down to the 
silk embroidery in which Catherine de Medicis excelled, 
Diane seated herself in the recess of a window and beck- 
oned her cousin to her side, so that it was not possible to 
disobey. 

“ Little one,’’^ she said, ‘‘ why have you cast off your 
poor cousin? There, sit down — for Eustacie stood, with 
her silk in her hand, as if meaning instantly to return to 
her former place; and now, her cheeks in a flame, she an- 
swered in an indignant whisper, “You know, Diane! How 
could you try to keep him from me?’^ 

“ Because it w^as better for thee, my child, than to be 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


91 


pestered with an adventurer/^ she said, smihng, though 
bitterly. 

“ My husband returned Eustacie proudly. 

“ Bah! You know better than that!^^ Then, as Eus- 
tacie was about to speak, but checked herself, Diane added, 
‘‘ Yes, my poor friend, he has a something engaging about 
him, and we all would have hindered you from the pain 
and embarrassment of a meeting with him. 

Eustacie smiled a little saucy smile, as though infinitely 
superior to them all. 

“ Pauvre 2)eiitey^’ Diane, nettled; “ she actually be- 
lieves in his love.^^ 

“I will not hear a word against my husband!” said 
Eustacie, stepping back, as if to return to her place, but 
Diane rose and laid her hand on hers. “ My dear,'^ she 
said, “ we must not part thus. I only wish to know what 
touches my darling so nearly. I thought she loved and 
clung to us; why should she have turned from me for the 
sake of one who forgot her for half his life? What can he 
have done to master this silly little heart?' ^ 

“ I can not tell you, Diane,” said Eustacie simply; and 
though she looked down, the color on her face was more of 
a happy glow than a conscious blush. “ I love him too 
much; only we understand each other now, and it is of no 
use to try to separate us. ” 

“ Ah, poor little thing, so she thinks,” said Diane; and 
as Eustacie again smiled as one incapable of being shaken 
in her conviction, she added, “ And how do you know that 
he loves you?” 

Diane was startled by the bright eyes that hashed on her 
and the bright color that made Eustacie perfectly beauti- 
ful, as she answered, ‘ ‘ Because I am his wife ! That is 
enough!” Then, before her cousin could speak again, 
“But, Diane, I promised not to speak of it. I know he 
would despise me if I broke my word, so I will not talk to 
you till I have leave to tell you all, and I am going back to 
help Gabrielle de Limeuil with her shepherdess. ” 

Mile, de Ribaumont felt her attempt most unsatisfac- 
tory, but she knew of old that Eustacie was very determined 
— all Bellaise knew that to oppose the tiny baronne was to 
make her headstrong in her resolution; and if she sus- 
pected that she was coaxed, she only became more obsti- 
nate. To make any discoveries, Diane must take the line of 


92 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


most cautious caresses, such as to throw her cousin off her 
guard; and this she was forced to confess to her father 
when he sought an inteiwiew with her on the day of her 
return to Paris. He shook his head. ‘‘ She must be on 
the watch/ ^ he said, and get quickly into the silly girPs 
confidence. AVhat! had she not found out that the young 
yillain had been on the point of eloping with her? If such 
a thing as that should succeed, the whole family was lost, 
and she was the only person who could prevent it. He 
trusted to her. 

The chevalier had evidently come to regard his niece as 
his song’s lawful property, and the baron as the troublesome 
meddler; and Diane had much the same feeling, enhanced 
by sore jealousy at Eustacie^’s triumph over her, and curi- 
osity as to whether it could be indeed well founded. She 
had an opportunity of judging the same evening — mere 
liabit always caused Eustacie to keep under her wing, if she 
could not be near the queen, whenever there was a recep- 
tion, and to that reception of course Berenger came, armed 
with his right as gentleman of the bed-chamber. Eustacie 
was coloring and fluttering, as if by the instinct of his pres- 
ence, even before the tall fair head became visible, moving 
forward as well as the crowd would permit, and seeking 
about with anxious eyes. The glances of the blue and the 
black eyes met at last, and a satisfied radiance illuminated 
each 3’oung face; then the young man steered his way 
through the throng, but was caught midway by Coligny, 
and led up to be presented to a hook-nosed, dark-haired, 
lively-looking young man, in a suit of black richly laced 
with silver. It was the King of Navarre, the royal bride- 
groom, who had entered Paris in state that afternoon. 
Eustacie tried to be proud of the preferment, but oh! she 
thought it mistimed, and was gratified to mark certain wan- 
derings of the eye even while the gracious king was speak- 
ing. Tlien the admiral said something that brought the 
girlish rosy flush up to the very roots of the short curls of 
flaxen hair, and made the young king^s white teeth flash 
out in a mirthful, good-natured laugh, and thereupon the 
way opened, and Berenger was beside the two ladies, kiss- 
ing Eustacie ^s hand, but merely bowing to Diane. 

She was ready to take the initiative. 

‘‘ My cousins deem me unpardonable,"^ she said; “ yet I 
am going to purchase their pardon. See this cabinet of 


THE CHAPLET OF PEA ELS. 


93 


porcelain a la Reine, and Italian vases and gems, behind 
this curtain. There is all the siege of Troy, which Mon- 
sieur le Baron will no doubt explain to mademoiselle, while 
I shall sit on this cushion, and endure the siege of St. 
Quentin from the bo7i Sieur de Selinville."" 

M. de Selinville was the court bore, who had been in 
every battle from Pavia to Montcontour, and gave as full 
memoirs of each as did Blaise de Monluc, only viva voce in- 
stead of in writing. Diane was rather a favorite of his; she 
knew her way through all his adventures. So soon as she 
had heard the description of the King of Navarre's entry 
into Paris that afternoon, and the old gentleman's lamen- 
tation that his own two nephews were among the three 
hundred Huguenot gentlemen who had formed the escort, 
she had only to observe whether his reminiscences had 
gone to Italy or to Manders in order to be able to put in 
the appropriate remarks at each pause, while she listened 
all the while to the murmurs behind the curtain. Yet it 
was not easy, with all her court-breeding, to appear in- 
different, and solely absorbed in hearing of the bad lodg- 
ings that had fallen to the share of the royal troops at Bres- 
cia, when such sounds were reaching her. It was not so 
much the actual words she heard, though these were the 
phrases — mon ange, my heart, my love;" those were 
common, and Diane had lived in the queen-mother's squad- 
ron long enough to despise those who uttered them only 
less than those who believed them. It was the full depth of 
tenderness and earnestness, in the subdued tones of the 
voice, that gave her a sense of quiet force and reality be- 
yond all she had ever known. She had heard and overheard 
men pour out frantic ravings of passion, but never had 
listened to anything like the sweet protecting tenderness 
of voice that seemed to embrace and shelter its object. 
Diane had no doubts now; he had never so spoken to her; 
nay, perhaps he had had no such cadences in his voice be- 
fore. It was quite certain that Eustacie was Everything to 
him, she herself nothing; she who might have had any gal- 
lant in the court at her feet, but had never seen one whom 
she could believe in, whose sense of esteem had been first 
awakened by this stranger lad who despised her. Surely 
he was loving this foolish child simply as his duty; his be- 
longing, as his right he might struggle hard for her, and if 
he gained her, be greatly disappointed; for how could Eus- 


94 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


tacie appreciate him, little empty-headed, silly thing, who 
would be amused and satisfied by any court flatterer-' 

However, Diane held out and played her part, caught 
scraps of the conversation, and pieced them together, yet 
avoided all appearance of inattention to M. de Selinville, 
and finally dismissed him, and maneuvered first Eustacie, 
and after a safe interval Berenger, out of the cabinet. The 
latter bowed as he bade her good-night, and said, with the 
most open and cordial of smiles, “ Cousin, I thank you 
with all my heart. 

The bright look seemed to her another shaft. “ What 
happiness!"' said she to herself. “ Can I overthrow it? 
Bah! it will crumble of its own accord, even if I did noth- 
ing! And my father and brother!" 

Communication with her father and brother was not al- 
ways easy to Diane, for she lived among the queen- 
mother's ladies. Her brother was quartered in a ’sort of 
barrack among the gentlemen of Monsieur's suite, and the 
old chevalier was living in the room Berenger had taken 
for him at the Croix de Lorraine, and it was only on the 
most public days that they attended at the palace. Such 
a day, however, there was on the ensuing Sunday, when 
Henry of Navarre and Marguerite of France were to be 
wedded. Their dispensation was come, but, to the great 
relief of Eustacie, there was no answer with it to the ap- 
plication for the cassation of her marriage. In fact, this dis- 
pensation had never emanated from the Pope at all. Rome 
would not. sanction the union of a daughter of France with 
a Huguenot prince; and Charles had forged the document, 
probably with his mother's knowledge, in the hope of 
spreading her toils more completely round her prey, while 
he trusted that the victims might prove too strong for her, 
and destroy her web, and in breaking forth might release 
himself. 

Strange wS the pageant of that wedding on Sunday, the 
17th of August, 1572. The outward seeming was mag- 
nificent, when all that was princely in France stood on the 
splendidly decked platform in front of Notre Dame, around 
the bridegroom in the bright promise of his kingly endow- 
ments, and the bride in her peerless beauty. Brave, noble- 
hearted, and devoted were the gallant following of the -one, 
splendid and highly gifted the attendants of the other; and 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


95 


their union seemed to promise peace to a long-distracted 
kingdom. 

Yet what an abyss lay beneath those trappings! The 
bridegroom and his comrades were as lions in the toils of 
the hunter, and the lure that had enticed them thither was 
the bride herself so unwilling a victim that her hps refused 
to utter the espousal vows, and her head was forced for- 
ward by her brother into a sign of consent; while the fa- 
vored lover of her whole life-time agreed to the sacrifice in 
order to purchase the vengeance for which he thirsted, and 
her mother, the corrupter of her own children, looked com- 
placently on at her ready-dug pit of treachery and blood- 
shed. 

Among the many who played unconscious on the surface 
of that gulf of destruction, were the young creatures whose 
chief thought in the pageant was the glance and smile 
from the gallery of the queen ^s ladies to the long procession 
of the English embassador^ s train, as they tried to remem- 
ber their own marriage there; Berenger with clear recollec- 
tion of his father^s grave, anxious face, and Eustacie chiefly 
remembering her own white satin and turquois dress, 
which indeed she had seen on every great festival-day as 
the best raiment of the image of Notre Dame de Bellaise. 
She remained in the choir during mass, but Berenger ac- 
companied the rest of the Protestants with the bridegroom 
at their head into the nave, where Coligny beguiled the 
time with walking about, looking at the banners that had 
been taken from himself and Conde at Montcontour and 
Jarnac, saying that he hoped soon to see them taken down 
and replaced by Spanish banners. Berenger had followed, 
because he felt the need of doing as Walsingham and Sid- 
ney thought right, but he had not been in London long 
enough to become hardened to the desecration of churches 
by frequenting ‘‘ PauPs Walk.^^ He remained bare-headed, 
and stood as near as he could to the choir, ILtening to the 
notes that floated from the priests and acolytes at the high 
altar, longing for the time when he and Eustacie should be 
one in their prayers, and lost in a reverie, till a grave old 
jiobleman passing near him reproved him for dallying with 
the worship of Rimmon. But this listening attitude had not 
passed unobserved by others besides Huguenot observers. 

The wedding was followed by a ball at the Louvre, from 
which, however, all the stricter Huguenots absented them- 


96 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


selves out of respect to Sunday, and among them the fam- 
ily and guests of the English embassador, who were in the 
meantime attending the divine ser'^ice that had been post- 
poned on account of the morning^s ceremony. Neither was 
the Duke of Guise present at the entertainment; for though 
he had some months previously been piqued and entrapped 
into a marriage with Catherine of Oleves, yet his passion 
for Marguerite was still so strong that he could not bear to 
join in the festivities of her wedding with another. The 
absence of so many distinguished persons caused the ad^ 
mission of many less constantly privileged, and thus it was 
that Diane there met both her father and brother, who 
eagerly drew her into a window, and demanded what she 
had to tell them, laughing too at the simplicity of the 
youth, who had left for the chevalier a formal announce- 
ment that he had dispatched his protest to Home, and con- 
sidered himself as free to obtain his wife by any means in 
his power. 

‘‘Where is la petite V’ Narcisse demanded. “Behind 
her queen, as usual?^^ 

“ The young queen keej)s her room to-night, returned 
Diane. “ Nor do I advise you, brother, to thrust yourself 
in the way of la petite enteUe just at present. 

“ What, is she so besotted with the peach face? He shall 
pay for it?^^ 

“ Brother, no duel. Father, remind him that she would 
never forgive him.^^ 

“ Fear not, daughter, said the chevalier; “ this folly 
can be ended by much quieter modes, only you must first 
give us information. 

“ She tells me nothing, said Diane; “ she is in one of 
her own humors — high and mighty. 

“ Peste! where is your vaunt of winding the little one 
round your finger 

“ With time, I said,^^ replied Diane. Curiously enough, 
she had no compunction in worming secrets from Eustacie 
and betraying them, but she could not bear to think of the 
trap she had set for the unsuspecting youth, and how in- 
genuously he had thanked her, little knowing how she had 
listened to his inmost secrets. 

“Time is everything,^ ^ said her father; “ delay will be 
our ruin. Your inheritance will slip through your fingers, 
my son. The youth will soon win favor by abjuring his 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


97 


heresy; he play the same game with the king as his 
father did with King Henri. Ton will have nothing hut 
your sword, and for you, my poor girl, there is nothing but 
to throw yourself on the kindness of our aunt at Bellaise, if 
she can receive the vows of a dowerless maiden. 

“It will never be,-’" said Karcisse. “ My rapier will soon 
disjDOse of a big rustic like that, who knows just enough of 
fencing to make him an easy prey. What! 1 verily believe 
the great blonde has caught her fancy!"" as he saw I)iaue"s 
gesture of entreaty. “ And yet the fine fellow was willing 
enough to break the marriage when he took her for the 
bride. " " 

“Kay, my son,"" argued the chevalier, willing appar- 
ently to spare his daughter from the sting of mortification, 
“ as I said, all can be done without danger of bloodshed on 
either side, were we but aware* of any renewed j^roject of 
elopement. The pretty pair would be easily waylaid, the 
girl safely lodged at Bellaise, the boy sent off to digest his 
pride in England. "" 

“ Unhurt?"" murmured Diane. 

Her father checked Narcisse"s mockery at her solicitude, 
as he added, “ Unhurt? yes. He is a liberal-hearted, gra- 
cious, fine young man, whom I should much grieve to 
harm; but if you know of any plan of elopement and con- 
ceal it, my daughter, then upon you will lie either the ruin 
and disgrace of your family, or the death of one or both of 
the youths.’"" 

Diane saw that her question had betrayed her knowl- 
edge. She spoke faintly. “.Something I -did overhear; 
but I know not how to utter a treason."" 

“ There is no treason where there is no trust, daughter,"" 
said the chevalier, in the tone of a moral sage. “ Speak!"" 

Diane never disobeyed her father, and faltered, “ Wed- 
nesday; it is for AYednesday. They mean to leave the pal- 
ace in the midst of the mask; there is a market-boat from 
Leurre to meet them on the river; his servants will be in 
it."" 

“ On AYednesday!’" Father and son looked at each other. 

“ That shall be remedied,"" said Karcisse. 

“Child,"" added her father, turning kindly to Diane, 
“ you have saved our fortunes. There is but one thing 
more that you must do. Make her obtain the pearls for 
him. "" 


4 


98 


THE CHAPLET OP PEAKLS. 


Ah!’" sighed Diane, half shocked, half revengeful, as 
she thought how he had withheld them from her. 

‘‘It is necessary, said the chevalier. “ The heirloom 
of our house must not be risked. Secure the pearls, child, 
and you will have done good service, and earned the mar- 
riage that shall reward you. 

AVhen he was gone, Diane pressed her hands together 
with a strange sense of misery. He, who had shrunk from 
the memory of little Diane^s untruthfulness, what would 
he think of the present Diane treachery? Yet it was to 
save his life and that of her brother — and for the assertion 
of h^r victory over the little I’obber, Eustacie. 


CHAPTER X. 

monsieur’s ballet. 

The Styx had fast hound her 
Nine times around her. 

Pope, Ode on St. Cecilia' 8- day. 

E^ly on Monday morning came a message to Mile. 
Nid-de-Merle, that .she was to prepare to aqt the part of a 
nymph of Paradise in the king’s mask on "Wednesday 
night, and must dress at once to rehearse her part in the 
ballet specially designed by Monsieur. 

Her first impulse was to hurry to her own queen, whom 
she entreated to find some mode of exempting' her. But 
Elizabeth, who was still in bed, looked distressed and fright- 
ened, made signs of caution, and when the weeping girl 
was on the point of telling her of the project that would 
thus be ruined, silenced her by saying, “ Hush! my poor 
child, I have but meddled too much already. Our lady 
grant that I have not done you more harm than good! Tell 
me no more.” 

“ Ah! madame, I will be discreet, I will tell on you noth- 
ing; but if you would only interfere to spare me from this 
ballet! It is monsieur’s contrivance! Ah! madame, could 
you but speak to the king!” 

“ Impossible, child,” said the queen. “ Things are not 
here as they were at happy Montpipeau. ” 

And the poor 3"oung queen turned her face in to her pil- 
low, and wept. 

Every one who was not in a dream of bliss like poor lit- 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


99 


tie Eustacie knew that the king had heen in so savage a 
mood ever since his return that no one durst ask anything 
from him. A little while since, he had laughed at his gen- 
tle wife for letting herself, an emperor^s daughter, bo 
trampled on where his brother Francises queen, from her 
trumpery, beggarly realm had held up her head, and put 
down la helle mere; he had amused himself with Eliza- 
beth’s pretty little patronage of the young Ribaumonts as 
a promising commencement in intriguing like other people; 
but now he was absolutely violent at any endeavor to make 
him withstand his mother, and had driven his wife back 
into that cold, listless, indifferent shell of apathy from 
which affection and hope had begun to rouse her. She 
knew it would only make it the worse for her little Nid-de- 
Merle for her to interpose when monsieur had made thej 
choice. 

And Eustacie was more afraid of Monsieur than even of 
Narcisse, and her Berenger could not be there to protect’ 
her. However, there was protection in numbers. With 
twelve nymphs, and cavaliers to match, even the Duke of 
Anjou could not accomplish the being very insulting. Eus- 
tacie — light, agile, and fairy-like — gained considerable 
credit for ready comprehension and graceful evolutions. 
She had never been so much complimented before, and 
was much cheered by praise. Diane showed herself highly 
pleased with her little cousin’s success, embraced her and 
told her she was finding her true level at court. She would 
be the prettiest of all the nymphs, who were all small, since 
fairies rather than Amazons were wanted in their position. ^ 
^‘And, Eustacie,” she added, ‘‘you should wear the 
pearls. ’ ’ 

“The pearls!” said Eustacie. “Ah! but he always 
wears them. I like to see them on his bonnet— they are 
hardly whiter than his forehead.” 

“ Foolish little thing!” said Diane, “ I shall think little 
of his love if he cares to see himself in them more than you.” 

The shaft seemed carelessly shot, but Diane knew that it 
would work, and so it did. Eustacie wanted to prove her 
husband’s love, not to herself, but to her cousin. 

He made his way to her in the gardeifs of the Louvre 
that evening, greatly dismayed at the report that had 
reached him that she was to figure as a nymph of Elysium. 
She would thus be in sight as a prominent figure the whole 


100 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


evening, even till an hour so late that the market-boat 
which Osbert had arranged for their escape could not wait 
for them without exciting suspicion; and besides, his deli- 
cate English feelings were revolted at the notion of her 
forming a part of such a spectacle. She could not under- 
stand his displeasure. If they could not go on Wednesday, 
they could go on Saturday; and as to her acting, half the 
noblest ladies in the court would be in the piece, and if 
English husbands did not like it, they must be the tyrants 
she had always heard of.- 

To be a gazing-stock,^^ began Berenger. 

Hush I monsieur, I will hear no more, or I shall take 
care how I put myself in your j)ower. 

That has been done for you, sweetheart,-’ he said, 
smiling with perhaps a shade too ihucli superiority; you 
are mine entirely now. 

“ That is not kind,^^ she pouted, almost crying — for be- 
tween flattery, excitement, and disappointment she was 
not like herself that day, and she was too proud to like to 
be reminded that she was in any oner’s power. 

‘‘ I thought, said Berenger, with the gentleness that 
always made him manly in dealing with her, “ I thought 
you liked to own yourself mine.^'’ 

‘ ‘ Yes, sir, when you are good, and do not try to hector 
me for what I can not avoid. 

Berenger was candid enough to recollect that royal com- 
mands did not brook disobedience, and, being thoroughly 
enamored besides of his little wife, he hastened to make his 
peace by saying, True, ma mie, this can not be helped. 

I was a wretch to find fault. Think of it no more.^'’ 

‘‘ You forgive me?^^ she said, softened instantly. 

^ Forgive you? What for, pretty one? For my forget- 
ting that you are still a slave to a hateful court?” 

‘‘ Ah! , then if you forgive me, let me wear the pearls. 

“ The poor pearls,” said Berenger, taken aback for a 
moment, “ the meed of our forefathers valor, to form part 
of the pageant and mummery? But never mind, sweet- 
heart,” for he could not bear to vex her again; “ you shall 
have them to-night; only take care of them. My mother 
would look blaek on me if she knew I had let them out of 
my care, but you and I are one, after all.” 

Berenger could not bear to leave his wife near the Duke 
of Anjou and Narcisse, and he offered himself to the king 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


101 


as an actor in the mask, much as he detested all he heard 
of its subject. The king nodded comprehension, and told 
him it was open to him either to be a demon in a tight suit 
of black cloth, with cloven-hoof shoes, a long tail, and a 
trident; or one of the Huguenots who were to be repulsed 
from Paradise for the edification of the spectators. As these 
last were to wear suits of knightly armor, Berenger much 
preferred making one of them in spite of their doom. 

The mask was given at the hall of the Hotel de Bour- 
bon, where a noble gallery accommodated the audience, and 
left full space beneath for the actors. Down the center of 
the stage flowed a stream, broad enough to contain a boat, 
which was plied by the Abbe de Mericour — ^transformed by 
a gray beard and hair and dismal mask into Charon, 

But so unused to navigation was he, so crazy and ill- 
trimmed his craft, that his first performance would have 
been his submersion in the Styx had not Berenger, better 
accustomed to boats than any of the dramatis personcSf 
caught him by the arm as he was about to step in, pointed 
out the perils, weighted the frail vessel, and given him a 
lesson in paddling it to and fro, with such a masterly hand, 
that, had there been time for a change of dress, the part of 
Charon would have been unanimously transferred to him; 
but the delay could not be suffered, and poor Mericour, in 
fear of a ducking, or worse, of ridicule, balanced himself, 
pole in hand, in the midst of the river. To the right of 
the river was Elysium — a circular island revolving on a 
wheel which was an absolute orrery, representing in con- 
centric circles the skies, with the sun, moon, the seven 
planets, twelve signs, and the fixed stars, all illuminated 
with small lamps. The island itself was covered with verd- 
ure, in which, among bowers woven of gay flowers, re- 
posed twelve nymphs of Paradise, of whom Eustacie was one. 

On the other side of the stream was another wheel, whose 
grisly emblems were reminders of Dante^s infernal circles, 
and were lighted by lurid flames, while little bells were 
hung round so as to make a harsh jangling sound., and all 
of the court who had any turn for buffoonery were leaping 
and dancing about as demons beneath it, and uttering wild 
shouts. 

King Charles and his two brothers stood on the margin 
of the Elysian lake. King Henry, the Prince of Conde, 
and a selection of the younger and gayer Huguenots, were 


102 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


the assailants — storming Paradise to gain possession of the 
nymphs. It was a very illusive armor that they wore, thin 
scales of gold or silver as cuirasses over their satin doublets, 
and the swords and lances of festive combat in that court 
had been of the bluntest foil ever since the father of these 
princes had died beneath Montgomery^’s spear. And when 
the king and his brothers, one of them a puny crooked 
boy, were the champions, the battle must needs be the 
merest show, though there were lookers-on who thought 
that, judging by appearances, the assailants ought to have 
the best chance of victory, both literal and allegorical. 

However, these three guardian angels had choice allies 
in the shape of the infernal company, who, as fast as the 
Huguenots crossed swords or shivered lances with their royal 
opponents, encircled them with their long black arms, and 
dragged them struggling away to Tartarus. Henry of 
Navarre yielded himself with a good-will to the horse-play 
with which this was performed, resisting just enough to 
give his demoniacal captors a good deal of trouble, while 
yielding all the time, and taking them by surprise by agile 
efforts, that showed that if he were excluded from Paradise 
it was only by his own consent, and that he heartily en- 
joyed the merriment. Most of his comrades, in especial 
the 3"Oung Count de Eochefoucauld, entered into the sport 
with the same heartiness, but the Prince of Conde submit- 
ted to his fate with a gloomy, disgusted countenance, that 
added much to the general mirth; and Berenger, with 
Eustacie before his eyes, looking pale, distressed, and ill at 
ease, was a great deal too much in earnest. He had so 
veritable an impulse to leap forward and snatch her from 
that giddy revolving prison, that he struck against the 
sword of Monsieur with a hearty good-will. His silvered 
lath snapped in his hand, and at that moment he was seized 
round the waist, and, when his furious struggle was felt to 
be in earnest, he was pulled over on his back, while yells 
and shouts of discordant laughter rang round him, as de- 
mons pinioned him hand and foot. 

He thought he heard a faint cry from Eustacie, and, 
with a sudden, unexpected struggle, started into a sitting 
posture; but a derisive voice, that well he knew, cried, 

' Ha, the deadly sin of pride! Monsieur thinks his painted 
face pleases ^he ladies. To the depths with him and 
therewith one imp pulled him backward again, while others 


THE ( HAELET OF PEAKLS. 


103 


danced a war-dance round him, pointing their forks at 
him ; and the prime tormentor, whom he perfectly recog- 
nized, not only leaped over him, but spurned at his face 
with a cloven foot, giving a blow, not of gay French mal- 
ice, but of malignity. It was too much for the boy^s for- 
bearance. He struggled free, dashing his adversaries aside 
fiercely, and as they again gathered about him, with the 
leader shouting, ‘‘ Rage, too, rage! To the prey, imps 
he clinched his first, and dealt the foremost foe such a blow 
on the chest as to level him at once with the ground. 

“ Monsieur forgets,^" said a voice, friendly yet reproach- 
ful, ‘‘ that this is t)ut sport. 

It was Henry of Navarre himself who spoke, and bent to 
give a hand to the fallen imp. A flush of shame rushed 
over Berenger's face, already red with passion. He felt 
that he had done wrong to use his strength at such a mo- 
ment, and that, though there had been spite in his assail- 
ant, he had not been therefore justified. He was glad to 
see Narcisse rise lightly to his feet, evidently unhurt, and, 
with the frankness with which he had often made it up 
with Philip Thistlewood or his other Englisli comrades 
after a sharp tussle, he held out his hand, saying, “ Good 
demon, your pardon. You roused my spirit, and I forgot 
myself.^-’ 

‘‘ Demons forget not,^^ was the reply. At him, imps!^^ 
And a whole circle of hobgoblins closed upon him with 
their tridents, forks, and other horrible implements, to 
drive him back within two tall barred gates, which, illumi- 
nated by red flames, were to form the ghastly prison of the 
vanquished. Perhaps fresh indignities would have been 
attempted, had not the King of Navarre thrown himself on 
his side, shared with him the brunt of all the grotesque 
weapons, and battled them off with infinite spirit and ad- 
dress, shielding him as it were from their rude insults by 
his own dexterity and inviolability, though retreating all 
the time till the infernal gates were closed on both. 

Then Henry of Navarre, who never forgot a face, held 
out his hand, saying, “ Tartarus is no region of good omen 
for friendships. Monsieur de Ribaumont, but, for lack of 
yonder deviPs claw, here is mine. I like to meet a com- 
rade who can strike a hearty blow, and ask a hearty par- 


104 


THE CHAPLET OE PEARLS. 


I was too hot, sire,^^ confessed Berenger, with one of 
his ingenuous blushes, but he enraged me. 

‘‘He means mischief,^ ^ said Henry. “ Eemember, if 
you are molested respecting this matter, that you have here 
a witness that you did the part of a gentleman. 

Berenger bowed his thanks, and began something about 
the honor, but his ej^e anxiously followed tlie circuit on 
which Eustacie was carried, and tlie glance was quickly re- 
marked. 

“ How? Your heart is spinning in that Mohammedan 
paradise, and that is what put such force into your fists. 
\Vhich of the houris is it? The little one with the wistful 
eyes, who looked so deadly white and shrieked out when the 
devilry overturned you? Eh! monsieur, you are a happy 
man. 

“ I should be, sire;’^ and Berenger was on the point of 
confiding the situation of liis affairs to this most engaging 
of princes, when a fresh supply of prisoners, chased with 
wild antics and fiendish yells by the devils, came headlong 
in on them; and immediately, completing, as Henry said, 
the galimatias of mythology, a j^asteboard cloud was pro- 
pelled- on *the stage, and disclosed the deities Mercury and 
Cupid, who made a comifiimentary address to the three 
princely brothers, inciting them to claim the nymphs whom 
their valor had defended, and lead them through the mazes 
of a choric celestial dance. 

This dance had been the special device of Monsieur and 
the ballet-master, and during the last three days the houris 
had been almost danced off their legs with rehearsing- it 
morning, noon, and night, but one at least of them was 
scarcely in a condition for its performance. Eustacie, diz- 
zied at the first minute by the whirl of her Elysian merry- 
go-roimd, had immediately after become conscious of that 
which she had been too childish to estimate merely in pros- 
pect, the exposure to universal gaze. Strange staring eyes, 
glaring lights, frightful imps seemed to wheel round heV in 
an intolerable delirious succession. Her only refuge was 
in closing her eyes, but even this could not long be perse- 
vered in, so necessary a part of the pageant was she; and 
besides, she had Berenger to look for, Berenger, whom she 
had foolishly laughed at for knowing how dreadful it would 
be. But of course the endeavor to seek for one object with 
her eyes made the dizziness even more dreadful; and when. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


105 


at length, she beheld him dragged down by the demoniacal 
creatures, whose horrors were magnified by her confused 
senses, and the next moment she vvas twirled out of sight, 
her cry of distracted alarm was irrepressible. Carried 
round again and again, on a wheel that to her was far more 
like Ixion's than that of the spheres, she never cleared her 
perceptions as to where he was, and only was half mad- 
dened by the fantastic whirl of incongruous imagery, while 
she barely sat out Mercury ^s lengthy harangue; and when 
her wheel stood still, and she' was released, she could not 
stand, and w^as indebted to Charon and one of her fellow 
nymphs for supporting her to a chair in the back of the 
scene. Kind Charon hurried to bring her wine, the lady 
revived her with essences, and the ballet-master clamored 
for his performers. 

Ill or well, royal ballets must be danced. One long sob, 
one gaze 'round at the refreshing sight of a room no longer 
in motion, one wistful look at the gates of Tartarus, and 
the misery of the throbbing, aching head must be disre-^ 
garded. The ballet-master touched the white cheeks with’ 
rouge, and she stepped forward just in time, for Monsieur 
himself was coming angrily forward to learn the cause of 
the delay. f 

Spectators said the windings of that dance were exquis-' 
itely graceful. It was well that Eustacie^s drilling had 
been so complete, for she moved through it blindly, sense- 
lessly, and when it was over was led -back between the two 
Demoiselles de Limeuil to the apartment that served as a 
greenroom, drooping and almost fainting. They seated 
her in a chair; and consulted round her, and her cousin 
Narcisse was among the first to approach; but no sooner 
had she caught sight of his devilish trim than with a littio v 
shriek she shut her eyes, and flung herself to the other side 
of the chair. 

“ My fair cousin, he said, opening his black vizard, 

“ do you not see me? I am no demon, remember! I am 
your cousin. 

That makes it no better, said Eustacie, too much dis- 
ordered and confused to be on her guard, and hiding her 
face with her hands. “ Go, go, I entreat.^’ 

“ Kay, my fair one, I can not leave you thus! Shall I 
send for my father to take you liome?^’ 

In fact he had already done this, and the ladies added 


lOG THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 

their counsel; for indeed the poor child could scarcely hold 
up her head, but she said, “ I should like to stay, if I 
could ; a little, a little longer. Will they not open those 
dreadful bars?'^ she added, presently. 

“ They are even now opening them,^^ said Mile, de Lim- 
euil. “Hark! they are going to e7i melee. Made- 
moiselle de Nid-de-Merle is better now 

“ Oh, yes; let me not detain you."" 

Eustacie would have risen, but the two sisters had flut- 
tered back, impatient to lose nothing of the sports; ^ and 
her cousin in his grim disguise stood full before her. Ho 
haste, cousin,"" he said; “ you are not fit to njove."" 

“ Oh, then go,"" said Eustacie, suffering too much not 
to be petulant. “You make me worse. "" 

And why? It was not always thus,"" began Harcisse, 
so eager to seize an opportunity as to have little considera- 
tion for her condition; but she was unable to bear any 
more, and broke out: “ Yes, it was; I always detested you. 

I detest you more thaii ever, since you deceived me so 
cruelly. Oh, do but leave me!"" 

“You scorn me, then? You prefer to me — who have 
loved you so long — that childish new-comer, who was ready 
enough to cast you off. " " 

“ Prefer! He is my husband ! It is an insult for any one 
else to speak to me thus!"" said Eustacie, drawing herself 
up, and rising to her feet; but she was forced to hold by 
the back of her chair, and Diane and her father appearing 
at that moment, she tottered toward the former, and be- 
coming quite passive under the influence of violent dizzi- 
ness and headache, made no objection to being half led, 
half carried, through galleries that connected the Hotel de 
Bourbon with the Louvre. 

And thus it was that when Berenger had fought out his 
part in the melee of the prisoners released, and had main- 
tained the honors of the rose-colored token in his helmet, 
he found that his lady-love had been obliged by indisposition 
to return home; and while he stood, folding his arms to 
restrain their strong inclination to take Harcisse by the 
throat and demand whether this were another of his decep- 
tions, a train of fire- works suddenly exploded in the middle 
of the Styx — a last surprise, especially contrived by King 
Cdiarles, and so effectual that half the ladies were shrieking. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 107 

and imagining that they and the whole hall had blown up 
together. • 

A long supper, fall of revelry, succeeded, and at length 
Sidney- and Eibaumont walked home together in the midst 
of their armed servants bearing torches. All the way home 
Berenger was bitter in vituperation of the hateful pageant 
and all its details. 

‘“Yea, truly,^^ replied Sidney; “ methought that it 
betokens disease in the mind of a nation when their festive 
revelry is thus ghastly, rendering the most awful secrets 
made known by our God in order to warn man from sin 
into a mere antic laughing-stock. Laughter should be 
moved by what is fair and laughter- worthy — even .like 
such sports as our own ‘ Midsummer Night^s Dream."’ I 
have read that the bloody temper of Rome fed itself in 
gladiator shows, and verily, what we beheld to-night be- 
tokens something at once grisly and light-minded in the 
mood of this country. 

Sidney thought so the more when on the second ensuing 
morning the Admiral de Coligny was shot through both 
hands by an assassin generally known to have been posted 
by the Duke of Guise, yet often called by the sinister sobri- 
quet of Le Tueur du lioi. 


CHAPTER XL 

THE KING^S TRAGEDY. 

The night is come, no fears disturb 
The sleep of innocence. 

They trust in kingly faith, and kingly oath. 

They sleep, alas! they sleep. 

Go to the palace, wouldst thou know 
How hideous night can be; 

Eye is not closed in those accursed walls, 

Nor heart is quiet there! 

Southey, Bartholomew' & em. 

“ Young gentlemen,’^ said Sir Francis Walsingham, as 
he rose from dinner on the Saturday, “ are you bound for 
the palace this evening?'’^ 

“ I am, so please your excellency, returned Berenger. 

“ I would have you both to understand that you must 
have a care of yourselves, said the embassador. “ The 
admiral’s wound has justly caused much alarm, and I hear 


l(lS THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 

that the Protestants are going vaporing ahont in so noisy 
and incautions^a manner, crying out for justice’^, that it is 
but too likely that the party of the queen-mother and the 
Guises will be moved to strong measures/^ 

“ They will never dare lay a finger upon us!^^ said Sidney. 

In a terror-stricken fray men are no respecters of per- 
sons/" replied Sir Francis. “ This house is, of course, in- 
violable; and, whatever the madness of the people, we have 
stout hearts enough here to enforce respect thereto; but I 
can not answer even for an Englishman's life beyond its 
precincts; and you, Ribaumont, whom I can not even 
claim as my queei/s subject — I greatly fear to trust you 
beyond its bounds. "" 

I can not help it, sir. Nay, with the most grateful 
thanks for all your goodness to me, I must 2)ray you not to 
take either alarm or offense if I return not this night. "" 

No more, my friend,"" said AValsingham, quickly; let 
me know nothing of your jmrposes, but take care of your- 
self. I would you were safe at home again, though the de- 
sire may seem inhospitable. The sooner the better with 
whatever you have to do. "" 

“ Is the danger so imminent?"" asked Sidney. 

“ I know nothing, Pliilij). All I can tell is that, as I 
have read that dogs and cattle scent an earthquake in- the 
air, so men and women seem to breathe a sense of danger 
in this city. And to me the graciousness with which the 
Huguenots have been of late treated wears a strangely sus- 
jneious air. Sudden and secret is the blow like to be, and 
vre can not be too much on our guard. Therefore remem- 
ber, my young friends both, that your danger or death 
would fall heavily on those ye love and honor at home."" 

So saying, he left the two youths, unwilling to seek fur- 
ther confidence, and Berenger held his last consultation 
with Sidney, to whom he gave directions for making full 
explanation to Walsingham in his absence, and expediting 
Mr. Adderley"s return to England. Osbert alone was to 
go to the Louvre with him, after having seen the five En- 
glish grooms on board the little decked market-vessel on 
the Seine, which was to await the fugitives. Berenger was 
to i^resent himself in the palace as in his ordinary court at- 
tendance, and, contriving to elude notice among the throng 
who were there lodged, was to take up his station at the 
foot of the stairs leading to the apartments of the ladies, 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


109 


whence Enstacie was to descend at about eleven o'clock with 
her maid Veroniqiie. Landry Osbert was to join them from 
the lackeys' hall below, where he had a friend, and the 
connivance of the porter at the postern opening toward the 
KSeine had been secured. 

Sidney wished much to accompany him to the palace, if 
his presence could be any aid or protection, but on consid- 
eration it was decided that his being at the Louvre was like- 
ly to attract notice to Ribaumont's delayiug there. The 
two young men therefore shook hands and parted, as youths 
who trusted that they had begun a lifelong friendship, with 
mutual promises to write to one another — the one, the ad- 
ventures of his flight; the other, the astonishment it would 
excite. And auguries were exchanged of merry meetings in 
London, and of the admiration the lovely little wife would 
excite at Queen Elizabeth's court. 

Then, with an embrace such as English friends then gave, 
they separated at the gate; and Sidney stood watching, as 
Berenger walked free and bold down the street, his sword 
at his side, his cloak over one shoulder, his feathered cap 
on one side, showing his bright curling hair, a sunshiny 
picture of a victorious bridegroom — such a picture as sent 
Philip Sidney's wits back to Arcadia. 

It was not a day of special state, but the palace was great- 
ly crowded. The Huguenots were in an excited mood, in- 
clined to rally round Henry of Navarre, whose royal title 
made him be looked on as in a manner their monarch, 
though his kingdom had been swallowed by Spain, and he 
was no more than a French duke distantly related to ro}^- 
alty in the male line, and more nearly through his grand- 
mother and bride. The eight hundred gentlemen he had 
brought with him swarmed about his aiDartments, making 
their lodging on staircases and in passages; and to Berenger 
it seemed as if the king's guards and Monsieur's gentlemen 
must have come in in equal numbers to balance them. 
Narcisse was there, and Berenger kept cautiously amid his 
Huguenot acquaintance, resolved not to have a quarrel 
thrust on him which he could not honorably desert. It 
was late before he could work his way to the young queen's 
reception-room, where he found Eustacie. She looked al- 
most as white as at the mask; but there was a graver, less 
childish expression in her face than he had ever seen before, 
and her eyes glanced confldence when they met his. 


no 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


Behind the queen's chair a few words could be spoken. 

“ Ma mie, art thou well again? Canst bear this journey 
now?" 

Quite well, now! quite ready. Oh, that we may never 
have masks in England!" 

He smiled — “ Never such as this." 

“Ah! thou knowest best. I am glad I am thine al- 
ready; I am so silly, thou wouldst never have chosen me! 
But thou wilt teach me, and I will strive to be very good! 
And oh! let me but give one farewell to Diane." 

“ It is too hard to deny thee aught to-night, sweetheart, 
but judge for thyself. Think of the perils, and decide. " 

Before Eustacie could answer, a rough voice came near, 
the king making noisy sport with the Count de Eochefou- 
cauld and others. He was louder and ruder than Berenger 
had ever yet seen him, almost giving the notion of intoxi- 
cation; but neither he nor his brother Hen ry ever tasted 
wine, though both had a strange pleasure in being present 
at the orgies of their companions: the king, it was gen- 
erally said, from love of the self-forgetfulness of excitement 
— the Duke of Anjou, because his cool brain there collected 
men's secrets to serve afterward for his spiteful diversion. 

Berenger would willingly have escaped notice, but his 
bright face and sunny hair always made him conspicuous, 
and the king suddenly strode up to him, “ You here, sir! 
I thought you would have managed your affairs so as to be 
gone long ago!" then before Berenger could reply, “ How- 
ever, since here you are, come along with me to my bed- 
chamber! We are to have a carouse there to-night that 
will ring through all Paris! Yes, and shake Rochefoucauld 
out of his bed at midnight! You will be one of us, Ribau- 
mont? I command it!" 

And without waiting for reply he turned away with an 
arm round Rochefoucauld's neck, and boisterously addressed 
another of the company, almost as wildly as if he were in 
the mood, that Scots call “ fey." 

“ Royalty seems determined to frustrate our plans;" said 
Berenger, as soon as the king was out of hearing. 

“ But you will not go! His comrades drink till — oh! 
two, three in the morning. We should never get awa3\" 

“ No, I must risk his displeasure. We shall soon be be- 
yond his reach. But at least I may make his invitation a 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


Ill 


reason for remaining in the Louvre. People are departing! 
Soon wilt thou be my own.^^ 

‘‘ As soon as the queen^s coucher is over! I have but to 
change to a traveling-dress.^^ 

“ At the foot of the winding-stair. Sweetest, be brave!"' 

‘‘I fear nothing with thee to guard me. See, the queen 
is rising. " 

Elizabeth was in effect rising to make her respectful 
progress to the rooms of the queen-mother, to bid her good- 
night; and Eustacie must follow. Would Diane be there? 
Oh, that the command to judge between her heart and her 
caution had not been given ! Cruel kindness ! 

Diane was there, straight as a poplar, cold as marble, 
with fixed eyes. Eustacie stole up to her, and touched her. 
She turned with a start. ‘‘ Cousin, you have been very 
good to me!" Diane started again, as if stung. “You 
will love me still, whatever you hear?" 

Is this meant for farewell?" said Diane, grasping her 
wrist. 

Do not ask me, Diane. I may not." 

Where there is no trust there is no treason," said Di- 
ane, dreamily. “ No, answer me not, little one, there will 
be time for that another day. Where is he?" 

‘^In i\iQ ceuil-de-boeuffhQtwQQn the king's and queen's 
suites of rooms. I must go. There is the queen going. 
Diane, one loving word." 

‘‘ Silly child, you shall have plenty another time," said 
Diane, breaking away. ‘‘ Follow thy queen now!" 

Catherine, who sat between her daughters Claude and 
Marguerite, looked preoccupied, and summarily dismissed 
her daughter-in-law, Elizabeth, whom Eustacie was obliged 
to follow to her own state-room. There all the forms of 
the coucher were tediously gone through; every pin had its 
own ceremony, and even when her majesty was safely de- 
posited under her blue satin coverlet the ladies still stood 
round till she felt disposed to fall asleep. Elizabeth was 
both a sleepy and a considerate person, so that this was not 
so protracted a vigil as was sometimes exacted by the more 
wakeful princesses; but Eustacie could not escape from it 
till it was already almost midnight, the period for her tryst. 

Her heart was very full. It was not the usual flutter and 
terror of an eloping girl. Eustacie was a fearless little be- 
ing, and her conscience had no alarms; her affections were 


112 THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 

wholly with Berenger, and her transient glimpses of him 
had been as of something come out of a region higher, ten- 
derer, stronger, purer, more trustworthy than that where 
she had dwelt. She was proud of belonging to him. She 
had felt upheld by the consciousness through years of 
waiting, and now he more than realized her hopes, and she 
could have wept for exulting joy. Yet it was a strange, 
stealthy break with all she had to leave behind. The light 
to which he belonged seemed strange, chill, dazzling light, 
and she shivered at the thought of it, as if the new world, 
new ideas, and new requirements could only be endured 
with him to shield her and help her on. And withal, there 
seemed to her a shudder over the whole place on that night. 
The king^s eyes looked wild and startled, the queen-moth- 
er^s calm was strained, the Duchess of Lorraine w^as evi- 
dently in a state of strong nervous excitement; there w^as 
strange sounds, strange people moving about, a weight on 
everything, as if they were under the shadow of a thunder- 
cloud. Could it be only her own fancy she said to 
herself, because this was to be the great event of her life, 
for surely all these great people could not know or heed 
that little Eustacie de Eibaumont was to make her escape 
that night! 

The trains of royalty were not sumptuously lodged, 
France never has cared so much for comfort as for display. 
The waiting-lady of the bed-chamber slept in the anteroom 
of her mistress; the others, however high their rank, were 
closely herded together up a winding stair leading to a small 
passage, with tiny, cell-like recesses, wherein the demoiselles 
slept, often with their maids, and then dressed themselves 
in the space afforded by the passage. Eustacie^s cell was 
nearly at the end of the gallery, and, exchanging ‘ ‘ good- 
nights with her companions, she proceeded to her recess, 
where she expected to find Veronique ready to adjust lier 
dress. Veronique, however, was missing; but anxious to 
lose no time, she had taken off her delicate white satin 
farthingale to change it for an unobtrusive dark woolen 
kirtle, when, to her surprise and dismay, a loud creaking, 
growling sound made itself heard outside the door at the 
other end. Half a dozen heads came out of their cells; 
half a dozen voices asked and answered the question, 
‘‘ What is it?’^ “ They are bolting our door outside.'’^ But 
only Eustacie sped like lightning along the passage, pulled 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


113 


at the door, and cried, Open I Oi)en, I say!’^ No an- 
swer, but the other bolt creaked. 

“You mistake, concierge ! We are never bolted in ! iVlv 
maid is shut out. ^ ^ 

No answer, but the step retreated. Eustacie clasped her 
hands with a cry that she could hardly have repressed, but 
which she regretted the next moment. 

Gabrielle de Limeuil laughed. “ What, mademoiselle, 
are you afraid they will not let us out to-morrow?” 

“My maid!” murmured Eustacie, recollecting that she 
must give a color to her distress. 

“Ah! perhaps she will summon old Pierre to open for 
us.” 

This suggestion somewhat consoledr Eustacie, and she 
stood intently listening for Veroniqub^s step, wishing that 
her companions would hold their peace; but the adventure 
amused them, and they discussed whether it were a blunder 
of the concierge, or a piece of prudery of Mme. la Oom- 
tesse, or, after all, a precaution. The palace so full of 
strange people, who could say what might happen? And 
there was a talk of a conspiracy of the Huguenots. At any 
rate, every one was too much frightened to go to sleep, and, 
some sitting on the floor, some on a chest, some on a bed, 
the girls huddled together in Gabrielle de Limeuihs recess, 
the nearest to the door, and one after another related hor- 
rible tales of blood, murder and vengeance — then, alas! 
only too frequent occurrences in their unhappy land — each 
bringing some frightful contribution from her own 
province, each enhancing upon the last-told story, and ever 
and anon pausing with bated breath at some fancied sound, 
or supposed start of one of the others; theii clinging close 
together, and renewing the ghastly anecdote, at fir^ in a 
hushed voice that grew louder with the interest of the 
story. Eustacie alone would not join the cluster. Her 
cloak round her shoulders, she stood with her back against 
the door, ready to profit by tiie slightest indication outside 
of a step that might lead to her release, or at least enable 
her to communicate with Veronique; longing ardently that 
her companions would go to bed, yet unable to avoid 
listening with the like dreadful fascination to each of the 
terrible histories, which added each moment to the nervous 
horror of the whole party. . Only one, a dull and composed 
girl, felt the influence of weariness, and dozed with her head 


114 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


in her companion's lap; but she was awakened by one 
general shudder and suppressed cry when the hoarse clang 
of a bell struck on the ears of the already terrified, excited 
maidens. 

“The tocsin! The belief St. Germain! Fire! No, a 
Huguenot rising! Fire! Oh, let us out! Let us out! 
That window! Where is the fire? Nowhere! See the 
lights! Hark, that was a shot! It was in the palace! A 
heretic rising! Ah! there was to be a slaughter of the 
heretics! I heard it whispered. Oh, let us out! Open the 
doorr^ 

But nobody heard : nobody opened. There was one who 
stood without word or cry, close to the door — her eyes 
dilated, her cheek colorless, her whole person, soul and 
body alike, concentrated in that one impulse to spring for- 
ward the first moment the bolt should be drawn. But still 
the door remained fast shut! 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE PALACE OF SLAUGHTER. 

A human shambles with blood-reeking floor. 

Miss Swanwick, ^sch. Agamemnon. 

The door was opened at last, but not till full daylight. 
It found Eustacie as ready to rush forth, past all resistance, 
as she had been the night before, and she was already in 
the door- way when her maid Veronique, her face swollen 
with weeping, caught her by the hands and imi^lored her to 
turn back and listen. 

And words about a rising of the Huguenots, a general 
destruction, corpses lying in the court — were already pass- 
ing between the other maidens and the concierge. Eustacie 
turned upon her servant; “ Veronique, what means it? 
Where is he?^^ 

“ Alas! alas! Ah! mademoiselle, do but lie down! Woe 
is me! I saw it all! Lie down, and I will tell you.-'' 

“ Tell! I will not move till you have told me where my 
husband is," said Eustacie, gazing with eyes that seemed 
to Veronique turned to stone. 

“Ah! my lady — my dear lady! I was on the turn of the 
stairs, and saw all. The traitor— the Chevalier Narcisse — 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


115 


came on him, cloaked like you — and — shot him dead — with, 
oh, such cruel words of mockery! Oh! v^oe the day! Stay, 
stay, dear lady, the place is all blood — they are slaying them 
all — all the Huguenots! AYill no one stop her? — made- 
moiselle — ma’ moselle ! — ^ ^ 

For Eustacie no sooner gathered the sense of Veronique^s 
words than she darted suddenly forward, and was in a few 
seconds more at the foot of the stairs. There, indeed, lay 
a pool of dark gore, and almost in it Berenger^s black vel- 
vet cap, with the heron plume. Eustacie, with a low cry, 
snatched it up, continued her headlong course along the 
corridor, swiftly as a bird, Veronique following, and vainly 
shrieking to her to stop. Diane, appearing at the other 
end of the gallery, saw but for a moment the little figure, 
with the cloak gathered round her neck, and floating be- 
hind her, understood Veronique^s cry and joined in the 
chase across hall and gallery, where more stains were to be 
seen, even down to the marble stairs, every step slippery 
with blood. Others there were who saw and stood aghast, 
not understanding the apparition that flitted on so swiftly, 
never pausing till at the great door at the foot of the stairs 
she encountered a gigantic Scottish archer, armed to the 
teeth. She touched his arm, and standing with folded 
arms, looked up and said, “ Good soldier, kill me! I am 
a Huguenot!’^ 

Stop her! bring her back! cried Diane from behind. 
“ It is Mademoiselle de Nid-de-Merle!^^ 

‘‘No, no! My husband is Huguenot! I am a Hugue- 
not! Let them kill me, I say!^^ — struggling with Diane, 
who had now come up with her, and was trying to draw 
her back. 

“ Puir lassie!^^ muttered the stout Scotsman to himseK, 
“ this fearsome night has driven her demented. 

But, like a true sentinel, he moved neither hand nor foot 
to interfere, as shaking herself loose from Diane, she was 
springing down the steps into the court, when at that mo- 
ment the young Abbe de Mericour was seen advancing, 
pale, breathless, horror-struck, and to him Diane shrieked 
to arrest the headlong course. He obeyed, seeing the wild 
distraction of the white face and widely glaring eyes, took 
lier by both hands, and held her in a firm grasp, saying, 
“ Alas, lady, you can not go out. . It is no sight for any 
one. 


116 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


‘‘They are killing the Protestants/' she said; “I am 
one! Let me find them and die. " 

A strong effort to free herself ensued, but it was so sud- 
denly succeeded by a swoon that the abbe could scarcely 
save her from dropping on the steps. Diane begged him 
to carry her in, since they were in full view of men-at-arms 
in the court, and, frightful to say, of some of the ladies of 
the 2)alace, wdio, in the frenzy of that dreadful time, had 
actually come down to examine the half-stripped corpses of 
the men with whom they had jested not twelve hours be- 
fore. 

“Ah! it is no wonder, " said the 3'outhful abbe, as he 
tenderly lifted the inanimate figure. “This has been a 
night of horrors. I was coming in haste to know whether 
the king knows of this frightful plot of Monsieur de Guise, 
and the bloody work that is jjassing in Paris." 

“ The king!" exclaimed Diane, “ Monsieur PAbbe, do 
you know where he is now? In the balcoii}" overlooking the 
river, taking aim at the fugitives! Take care! Even 3'our 
soutane would not save 3^011 if Monsieur d'O and his crew 
heard you. But I must ]3ray you to aid me with tliis poor 
child! I dread that her wild cries should be heard." 

The abbe, struck dumb with horror, silently obev^ed Mile, 
de Eibaumont, and brought the still insensible Eustacie to 
the chamber, now deserted by all the 3"oung ladies. He 
laid her on her bed, and finding he could do no more, left 
her to her cousin and her maid. 

The poor child had been unwell and feverish ever since 
the mask, and the suspense of these few da3"s with the 
tension of that horrible night had prostrated her. Siie only 
awoke from her swoon to turn her head from the light and 
refuse to be spoken to. 

“ But, Eustacie, child, listen; this is all in vain — he 
lives," said Diane. 

“ Weary me not with falsehoods," faintly said Eustacie. 

“ No! no! no! They meant to hinder 3^0111’ flight, 
but — ’ ' 

“ They knew of it?" cried Eustacie, sitting uj) suddenl3\ 
“Then you told them. Go — go; let me never see 3^011 
more! You have been his death!" 

“ Listen! I am sure he lives! What! would the3’ in- 
jiii’e one whom my father loved? I heard my father say he 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLvS. 


117 


would not have him hurt. Depend upon it, he is safe on 
his wa}^ to England."" 

Eustacie gave a short but frightful hysterical laugh, and 
pointed to Veroniqip. ‘‘ She saw it,"" she said; “ ask her."" 

“ Saw what?"" said Diane, turning fiercely on Veronique. 
“ What vile deceit have you half killed your lady with?"" 

“ Alas! mademoiselle, I did but tell her what I had 
seen,"" sighed Veronique, trembling. 

“ Tell me!"" said Diane, passionately. 

“ Yes, everything,"" said Eustacie, sitting up. 

“ Ah! mademoiselle, it will make you ill again."" 

“ I will be ill — I will die! Heaven "s slaying is better 
than man"s. Tell her how you saw Narcisse. "" 

“ False girl!"" burst out Diane. 

“ Yo, no,"" cried Veronique. Oh, pardon me, made- 
moiselle, I could not help it. "" 

In spite of her reluctance, she was forced to tell that she 
had found' herself locked out of her mistress "s room, and 
after losing much time in searching for the concierge, 
learned that the ladies were locked ujd by order of the queen- 
mother, and was strongly advised not to be running about 
the passages. After a time, however, while sitting with 
the concierge^ s wife, she heard such frightful whispers from 
men with white badges, who were admitted one by one by 
the porter, and all led silently to a small lower room, that 
she resolved on seeking out the baron "s servant, and send- 
ing him to warn his master, while she would take up her 
station at her lady’s door. She found Osbert, and with 
him was ascending a narrow spiral leading from the offices 
— she, unfortunately, the foremost. As she came to the 
top, a scuffle was going on — four men had thrown them- 
selves upon one, and a torch distinctly showed her the 
younger chevalier holding a pistol to the cheek of the fallen 
man, and she heard the words, Le laiser Eustacie! 
Je te harhouillerai ce cliien de visage” and at the same 
moment the pistol was discharged. She sprung back, over- 
setting, as she believed, Osbert, and fled shrieking to the 
room of the concierge, who shut her in till morning. 

‘‘And how — how,"" stammered Diane, “should you 
know it was the baron?"" 

Eustacie, with a death-like look, showed for a moment 
what even in her swoon she had held clinched to her bosom, 
the velvet cap soaked with blood. 


118 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


‘‘ Besides/" added Veronique, resolved to defend her as- 
sertion, “ whom else would the words suit? Besides, are 
not all the heretic gentlemen dead? Why, as I sat there in 
the porter"s room, I heard Monsieur d"0 call each one of 
them by name, one after the other, into the court, and 
there the white sleeves cut them down or pistoled them 
like sheep for the slaughter. They lie all out there on the 
terrace like so many carcases at market ready for winter 
salting."" 

“ All slain?’" said Eustacie, dreamily. 

All except those that the king called into his own garde 
robed’ 

“ Then, I slew him!’" Eustacie sunk hack. 

“ 1 tell you, child,"" said Diane, almost angrily, he 
lives. Not a hair of his head was to be hurt! The girl 
deceives you."" 

But Eustacie had again become insensible, and awoke 
delirious, entreating to have the door opened, and fancying 
herself still on the revolving elysium, ‘‘ Oh, demons! 
demons, have pity!"" was her cry. 

Diane"s soothings were like speaking to the winds; and 
at last she saw the necessity of calling in further aid; but 
afraid of the scandal that the poor girl’s raving accusations 
might create, she would not send for the Huguenot surgeon, 
Ambroise Pare, whom the king had carefully secured in his 
own apartments, but employed one of the barber valets of 
the queen-mother"s household. Poor Eustacie was well 
pleased to see her blood flowing, and sunk back on her 
pillow murmuring that she had confessed her husband "s 
faith, and would soon be one with him, and Diane feared 
for a moment lest the swoon should indeed be death. 

The bleeding was so far effectual that it diminished the 
fever, and Eustacie became rational again when she had 
dozed and wakened, but she was little able or willing to 
speak, and would not so much as listen to Diane "s assevera- 
tions that Veronique had made a frightful error, and that 
the baron would prove to be alive. Whether it were that 
the admission that Diane had known of the project for 
preventing the elopement that invalidated her words, or 
whether the sufferer"s instinct made her believe Veronique "s 
testimony rather than her cousin’s assurances, it was all 

cramming words into her ear against the stomach of lier 
sense,"" and she turned away fr; rq them with a piteous. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


119 


petulant hopelessness: Could they not even let her alone 
to die in peace 

Diane was almost angered at this little silly child being 
in such an agony of sorrow — she, who could never have 
known how to love him. And after all this persistent grief 
was willfully thrown away. For Diane spoke in perfect 
sincerity when she taxed Veronique with an injurious, bar- 
barous mistake. She knew her father^s strong aversion to 
violence, and the real predilection that Berenger^s good 
mien, respectful manners, and liberal usage had won from 
him, and she believed he had much rather the youth lived, 
provided he were inoffensive. No doubt a little force had 
been necessary to kidnap one so tall, active, and deter- 
mined, and Veronique had made up her horrible tale after 
tlie usual custom of waiting-maids. 

Nothing else should be true. Did she think otherwise, 
she should be even more frantic than Eustacie! Why, it 
would be her own doing! She had betrayed the day of the 
escape — she had held aloof from warning. There was 
pleasure in securing Nid-de-Merle for hei’ brother, pleasure 
in balking the foolish child who had won the heart that dis- 
regarded her. Nay, there might have been even pleasure 
in the destruction of the scorner of her charms — the foe of 
her house — there might have been pride in receiving Queen 
Catherine's dexterous hint that she had been an apt pupil 
if the young baron had only been something different — 
something less fair, gracious, bright and pure. One bright 
angel seemed to have flitted across her path, and nothing 
should induce her to believe she had destroyed him. 

The stripped corpses of the murdered Huguenots of the 
palace had been laid in a line on the terrace, and the ladies 
who had laughed with them the night before went to in- 
sjiect them in death. A few remnants of Soeur Monique ^s 
influence would have withheld Diane, but that a frenzy of 
suspense was growing on her. She mnist see for herself. 
If it were so, she must secure a fragment of the shining 
flaxen hair, if only as a token that anything so and 
bright had walked the earth. 

She went on the horrible quest, shrinking where others ^ 
stared. For it was a pitiless time, and the squadron of the 
queen-mother were as lost to womanhood as the fish women 
of two centuries later. But Diane saw no corpse at once so 
tall, so young and so fair, though blonde Normans and blue- 


120 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


blooded Franks, lads scarce sixteen and stalwart warriors, 
lay in one melancholy rank. She at least bore away the 
certainty that the Englisli Eibaumont was not there; and 
if not, he must be safe ! She could obtain no further certain- 
ty, for she knew that she must not expect to see either her fa- 
ther or brother. There was a panic throughout the city. 
All Paris imagined that the Huguenots were on the point 
of rising and slaying all the Catholics, and, with the sav- 
agery of alarmed cowardice, the citizens and the mob were 
assisting the armed bands of the Dukes of Anjou and Guise 
to complete the slaughter, dragging their lodgers from their 
hiding-places, and denouncing all whom they suspected of 
reluctance to mass and confession. But on the Monday, 
Diane was able to send an urgent message to her father 
that he must come to speak with her, for Mile, de Hid-de- 
Merle was extremely ill. She would meet him in the gar- 
den after morning mass. , 

There accordingly, when she stepped forth pale, rigid, 
but stately, with her large fan in her hand to serve as a 
parasol, she met both him and her brother. She was for a 
moment sorry, for she had much power over her father, 
while she was afraid of her brother's sarcastic tongue and 
eye; she knew he never scrupled to sting her wherever she 
was most sensitive, and she would have been able to extract 
much more from her father in liis absence. France has 
never been without a tendency to produce the tiger-mon- 
key, or ferocious fop; and the genus was in its full ascend- 
ency under the sons of Catherine de Medicis, when the dregs 
of Francois the First ^s pse^ido-fMY^vy were not extinct — 
when ' horrible, retaliating eivil wars of extermination had 
made life cheap; nefarious persecutions had hardened the 
heart and steeled the eye, and the licentiousness promoted . 
by the shifty queen as one of her instruments of govern- 
ment had darkened the whole understanding. The most 
hateful heights of .perfidy, etfeminacy, and hypocrisy were 
not reached till poor Charles IX., who only committed 
crimes on compulsion, was in his grave, and Henry HI. on 
the throne; but Narcisse de Eibaumont was one of the choice 
companions of the latter, and after the night and day of 
murder now stood before his sister with scented hair and 
handkerchief — the last, laced, delicately held by a hand in 
an embroidered glove — emerald' pendants in his ears, a 
mustache twisted into sharp points and turned up like an 


THE CHAINLET OF PEAKES. 121 

eternal sardonic smile, and lie led a little white poodle a 
rose-colored ribbon. 

Well, sister, he said, as he went through the motions 
of kissing her hand, and she embraced her father; “ so you 
don^t kuow how to deal with megrims and transports 
“ Father, said Diane, not vouchsafing any attention, 
unless you can send her some assurance of his life, I will 
not answer for the consequences.^^ 

Xarcisse laughed: “ Take her this dog, with my comj^h- 
ments. That is the way to deal with such a child as that.^^ 
“ You do not know what you say, brother, answered 
Diane witli dignity. ‘‘ It goes deeper than that. 

The deejDer it goes, child, said the elder chevalier, 
the better it is that she should be undeceived as soon as 
j^ossible. She will recover, and be amenable the sooner. 

‘‘ Then he lives, father?^'’ exclaimed Diane. ‘‘ He lives, 
though she is not to hear it — say — 

‘‘ What know said the old man evasively. “ On a 
night of confusion many mischances are sure to occur! 
Lurking in the palace at the very moment when there was 
a search for the conspirators, it would have been a miracle 
had the poor young man escaped.-’^ 

Diane turned still whiter. “ Then,'’^ she said, “that 
was why you made monsieur put Eustacie into the ballet, 
that they might not go on Wednesday!^'’ 

“It was well hinted by you, daughter. We could not 
have effectually stopped them on Wednesday without mak-' 
ing a scandal.'’^ 

“ Once more,^^ said Diane, gasping, though still reso- 
’lute; “is not the story told by Eustacie ^s woman false — 
that she saw liim — pistoled — by you, brother 

“ Peste cried Narcisse. “ Was the prying wench there? 
I thought the little one might be satisfied that he had 
neighbor's fare. Yo matter; what is done tor one^s ieaux 
yeux is easily 2^a'rdoned — and if hot, why, I have her all 
the same!^^ 

“ Nevertheless, daughter,'^ said the chevalier gravely, 
“ the woman must be silenced. Either she must be sent 
home, or taught so to swear to having been mistaken, that 
la petite may acquit your brother! But what now, my 
daughter?’^ - . 

“"She is livid !'^ exclaimed Xarcisse, .Avith his sneer. 


122 THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 

Wliat, sir, did not you know she was smitten with the 
peach on the top of a pole,^^^ 

‘'Enough, brother,"" said Diane, recovering herself 
enough to speak hoarsely, but with hard dignity. “ You 
have slain — ^}*ou need not insult, one whom you have lost 
the power jof understanding!"" 

“ Shallow school-boys certainly form no part of my study, 
save to kick them down-stairs when they grow impudent,"" 
said iSTarcisse, coolly. “It is only women who think what 
is long must be grand. "" 

“ Come, children, no disputes,"" said the chevalier. “ Of 
course we regret that so fine a youth mixed himself up with 
the enemies of the kingdom, like the stork among the 
sparrows. Both Diane and I are sorry for the necessity; 
but remember, child, that when he was interfering between 
your brother and his just right of inheritance and destined 
wife, he could not but draw such a fate on himself. Now 
all is smooth, the estates will be united in their true head, 
and you — you too, my child, will be provided for as suits 
your name. All that is needed is to soothe the little one, 
so as to hinder her from making an outcry — and silence 
the maid; my child will do her best for her father" s sake, 
and that of her family. "" 

Diane was less demonstrative than most of her country- 
women. She had had time to recollect the uselessness of 
giving vent to her indignant anguish, and her brother"s 
derisive look held her back. The family tactics, from force 
• of habit, recurred to her; she made no further objection to 
her father"s commands; but when her father and brother 
parted with her, she tottered into the now empty chapel, 
threw herself down, vuth her burning forehead on the stone 
step, and so lay for hours. It was not in prayer. It was be- 
cause it was the only place where she could be alone. ’I’o 
her, heaven above and earth below seemed alike full of de- 
spair, darkneiSSj^nd cruel habitations, and she lay like one 
sick with misery and repugnance to the life and world that 
lay before her — the hard world that had quenched that one 
fair light and mocked her pity. It was misery of solitude, 
and yet no thought crossed her of going to weep and sym- 
pathize with the other sufferer. No; rivalry and jealousy 
came in there! Eustace viewed herself as his wife, and the 
very thought that she had been deliberately preferred and 
had enjoyed her triumph hardened Diane "s heart against 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


123 


her. Nay, the open violence and abandonment of her grief 
seemed to the more restrained and concentrated nature of 
her elder a sign of shallowness and want of durability; and 
in a certain contemptuous envy at her professing a right to 
mourn, Diane never even reconsidered her own resolution 
to play out her father^s game, consign Eustacie to her hus- 
bamEs murderer, and leave her to console herself with 
bridal splendors and a choice ‘of admirers from all the 
court. 

However, for the present Diane would rather stay away 
as much as possible from the sick-bed of the poor girl; and 
when an approaching step forced her to rouse herself and 
hurry away by the other door of the chapel, she did indeed 
mount to the ladies^ bed-chamber, but only to beckon 
Veronique out of hearing, and ask for her mistress. 

Just the same still, only sleeping to have feverish dreams 
of the revolving wheel or the demons grappling her hus- 
band, refusing all food but a little drink, and lying silent 
except for a few moans, heedless who spoke or looked at . 
her. 

Diane explained that in that case it was needless to come 
to her, l>ut added, with the vraisemUance of falsehood in 
which she had graduated in Catherine's school, Veronique, 
as I told you, you were mistaken. 

“Ah, mademoiselle, if Monsieur le Baron lives, she will 
be cured at once.^^ 

“ Silly girl,^^ said Diane, giving relief to her pent-up 
feeling by asperity of manner, “ how could he live when 
you and your intrigues got him into the palace on such a 
night? Dead he is, of course; but it was your own treach- 
erous, mischievous fancy that laid it on my brother. He 
was far away with Monsieur de Guise at the attack on the 
admiral. It was some of monsieur^s grooms you saw. ^ 
You remember she had brought him into a scrape with"^ 
Monsieur, and it was sure to be remembered. And look 
you, if you repeat the other tale, and do not drive it out of 
her head, you need not look to be long with her— no, nor 
at home. My father will have no one there to cause a 
scandal by an evil tongue. 

Tiiat threat convinced Veronique that she had been 
right; but she, too, had learned lessons at the Louvre, and 
she was too diplomatic not to ask pardon for her blunder, 
promise to contradict it when her mistress could listen, and 


124 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


express her satisfaction that it was not the Chevalier Nar- 
cisse — for such things were not pleasant, as she Justly ob- 
served, in families. 

About noon on the Tuesday, the Louvre was unusually 
tranquil. All the world had gone forth to a procession to 
Notre. Dame, headed by the king and all the royal family, 
to olfer thanksgiving for the deliverance of the country 
from the atrocious conspiracy of the Huguenots. Dustacie^’s 
chamber was freed from the bustle of all the maids-of-honor 
arraying themselves, and adjusting curls, feathers, ruffs 
and jewels; and such relief as she was capable of experienc- 
ing she felt in the quiet. 

-A^eronique hoped she would, sleep, and watched like a 
dragon to guard against any disturbance, springing out 
with upraised finger when a soft gliding step and rustling 
of brocade was heard. “ Does she sleep?'’’ said a low 
voice; and Veroni^ue, in the pale thin face with tear- 
swollen eyes and light yellow hair, recognized the young 
queen. “ My good girl,” said Elizabeth, with almost a be- 
seeching gesture, ‘‘let me see her. I do not know when 
again I may be able.” 

Veronique stood aside, with the lowest possible of courte- 
sies, just as her mistress with a feeble,* weary voice mur- 
mured, “ Oh, make them let me alone!” 

“My poor, poor child,^’said the qneeii, bending over 
Eustacie, while her brimming eyes let the tears fall fast, 
“ I will not disturb you long, but I could not help it. ” 

“ Her majesty!” exclaimed Eustacie, opening wide her 
eyes in amazement. 

“ My dear, suffer me here a little moment,” said the 
meek Elizabeth, seating herself so as to bring her face near 
to Eustacie ’s; “ I could not rest till I had seen how it was 
with you, and wep)t with you.” 

1^ “ Ah, madame, you can weep,” said Eustacie slowly, 
looking at the queeiLs heavy tearful eyes almost with won- 
der; “but I do not weep because I am dying, and that is 
better.” 

“ My dear, my dear, do not so speak!” exclaimed the 
gentle but rather dull queen. 

“ Is it wrong? Nay, so much the better— then I shall be 
with him,’ ’ said Eustacie in the same feeble dreamy man- 
ner, as if she did not understand herself, but a little roused 
by seeing she had shocked her visitor. “ I would not be 


THE CHAPLET OF J>EARLS. 


125 


wicked. He was all bright goodness and truth: b\it his 
does not seem to be goodness that brings to Heaven, and I 
do not want to be in the heaven of these cruel false men — 
I think it would go round and round. She shut her eyes 
as if to steady herself, and that moment seemed to give her 
more self-recollection, for looking at the weeping, troubled 
visitor, she exclaimed, with more energy, “Oh! madame, 
it must be a dreadful fancy! Good men like him can not 
be shut into those fiery gates with the torturing devils. 

“Heaven forbid!^' exclaimed the queen. “My poor, 
poor child, grieve not yourself thus. At my home, my 
Austrian home, we do not speak in this dreadful way. My 
father loves .and honors his loyal Protestants^ and he trusts 
that the good God accepts their holy lives in His unseen 
Church, even though outwardly they are separate from us. 
My German confessor ever said so. Oh! child, it would be 
too frightful if we deemed that all those souls as well as 
bodies perished in these frightful days. Myself, I believe 
that they have their reward for their truth and constancy. ^ ^ 

Eustacie caught the queen ^s hand, and fondled it with 
delight, as though those words had veritably opened the 
gates of heaven to her husband. The queen went on in her 
slow gentle manner, the very tone of which was inexpressi- 
bly soothing and sympathetic; “ Yes, and all will be clear 
there. No more violence. At home our good men think 
so, and the king will think the same when these cruel coun- 
selors will leave him to himself; and I pray, I pray day 
and night, that God will not lay this sin to his account, but 
open his eyes to repent. Forgive him, Eustacie, and pray 
for him too.'’^ 

“ The king would have saved my husband, madame, 
returned Eustacie. “ He bade him to his room. It was 
I, unhappy I, who detained him, lest our flight should have 
been hindered. ’ 

The queen in her turn kissed Eustacie ^s forehead with 
eager gratitude. “ Oh, little one, you have brought a drop 
of comfort to a heavy heart. Alas! I could sometimes feel 
you. to be a happier wife than I, with your perfect trust in 
the brave pure-spirited youth, unwarped by these wicked 
cruel advisers. I loved to look at his open brow; it was so 
like our bravest German Junkers. And, child, we thought, 
both of us, to have brought about your happiness; but, ah! 
it has but caused all this misery. 


126 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


‘‘No, no, dearest queen, said Eustacie, “ tins month 
with all its vwes has been joy — life! Oh! I had rather lie 
here and die for his loss than be as I was before he came. 
And now — now, you have given him to me for all eternity 
—if but I am tit to be with him!’^ 

Eustacie had revived so much during the interview that 
the queen could not believe her to be in a dying state; but 
she continued very ill, the low fever still hanging about her, 
and the faintness continual. The close room, the turmoil 
of its many inhabitants, and the impossibility of quiet also 
harassed her greatly, and Elizabeth had little or no power 
of making any other arrangements for her in the palace. 
Ladies when ill were taken home, and this poor child had 
no home. The other maids of honor were a gentler, sim- 
pler sec than Catherine’s squadron, and were far from un- 
kind; but between them and her, who had so lately been 
the brightest child of them all, there now lay that great 
gulf. “ Icli liabe gelelt und geliebet.^^ That the little 
blackbird, as they used to call her, should have been on the 
verge of running away with her own husband was a half 
understood, amusing mystery discussed in exaggerating 
prattle. This was hushed indeed, in the presence of that 
crushed, prostrate, silent sorrow; but there was still an 
utter incapacity of true sympathy, that made the very pres- 
ence of so many oppressive, even when they were not in 
murmurs discussing the ghastly tidings of massacres iQ 
other cities, and the fate of acquaintances. 

On tliat same day, the queen sent for Diane to consult her 
about the sufferer. Elizabeth longed to place her in her 
own cabinet and attend on her herself; but she was afraid 
to do this, as the unhappy king was in such a frenzied 
mood, and so constantly excited by his brother and Guise, 
that it was possible that some half-delirious complaint from 
poor Eustacie might lead to serious consequences. Indeed, 
Elizabeth, though in no state to bear agitation, was ab- 
sorbed in her endeavor to prevent him from adding blood 
to blood, and a few days later actually saved the lives of the 
King of Navarre and Prince of Conde, by throwing herself 
before him half-dressed, and tearing his weapon from his 
hand. Her only hope was that if she should give him a 
son, her influence for mercy would revive with his joy. 
Meantime she was powerless, and she coiild only devise the 
sending the poor little sufferer to a convent, where the 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 127 

nuns might tend her 'till she was restored to health and 
composure. Diane acquiesced, but proposed sending for 
her father, and he was accordingly summoned. Diane saw 
him first alone, and both agreed that he had better take 
Eustacie to Bellaise, where her aunt v^^ould take good care 
of her, and in a few months she would no doubt be weary 
enough of the country to be in raptures to return to Paris 
on any terms. 

Yet even as Diane said this, a sort of longing for the 
solitude of the woods of Nid-de-Merle came over her, a 
recollection of the good Sister Monique, at whose knee she 
had breathed somewhat of the free pure air that her mur- 
dered cousin had brought with him; a senfee that there 
she could pour forth her sorrow. She offered herself at once 
to go with Eustacie. 

“No, no, my daughter, said the chevalier, “that is 
unnecessary. There is pleasanter employment for you. I 
told you that your position was secured. Here is a brilliant 
offer — Monsieur de Selinville.^^ 

“ Le bonliomme de Selinville exclaimed Diane,, feeling 
rather as if the compensation were like the little dog offered 
to Eustacie. 

“ Know ye not that his two heretic nephews perished the 
other night? He is now the head of his name, the mar- 
quis, the only one left of his house. 

“ He begins early, said Diane. 

“ An old soldier, my daughter, scarce stays to count the 
fallen. He has no time to lose. He is sixty, with a dam- 
aged constitution. It will be but the affair of a few years, 
and then will my beautiful marquise be free to choose for 
herself. I shall go from the young queen to obtain per- 
mission from the queen-mother. 

No question was asked. Diane never even thought ob- 
jection possible. It was a close to that present life which 
she had begun to loathe: it gave comjiarative liberty. It 
would dull and confuse her heart-sick pain, and give her a 
certain superiority to her brother. Moreover, it would 
satisfy the old father, whom she really loved. Marriage 
with a worn-out old man was a simple step to full display 
for young ladies without fortune. 

The chevalier told Queen Elizabeth his purpose of plac- 
ing his niece in the family convent, under the care of her 
aunt, the abbess, in a foundation endowed by her own fam- 


128 


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ily on the borders of her own estate. Elizabeth would have 
liked to keep her nearer, but could not but own that the 
change to the scenes of her childhood might be more bene- 
ficial than a residence in a nunnery at Paris, and the cheva- 
lier spoke of his niece with a tender solicitude that gained 
the queen's heart. She consented, only stipulating that 
Eustacie's real wishes should be ascertained, and herself 
again made the exertion of visiting the jiatient for the pur- 
pose. 

Eustacie had been partly dressed, and was lying as near 
as she could to the narrow*^ window. The queen would not 
let her move, but took her damp languid hand, and de- 
tailed her uncle's pro] 30 sal. It was plain that it was not 
utterly distasteful. “ Soeur Monique," she said, “ Soeur 
Monique would sing hymns to me, and then I should not 
see the imps at night." 

‘‘Poor child! And you would like to go? You could 
bear the journey?" 

“ It would be in the air! And then I should not smell 
blood — blood!" And her cheeks became whiter again, if 
possible. ’ 

“ Tlien you would not rather be at the Carmelites, or 
Maubuisson, near me?" 

“Ah! madame, there would not be Soeur Moniqiie. If 
the journey would only make me die, as soon as I came, 
with Soeur Monique to hush me, and keep off dreadful 
images!" 

“ Dear child, you should put away the thought of dying. 
May be you are to live, that your prayers may win salva- 
tion for the soul of him you love. ' ' 

“Oh, then! I should like to go into a convent so strict 
— so strict, " cried Eustacie, with renewed vigor. “ Bel- 
laise is nothing like strict enough. Does your majesty in- 
deed think that my prayers will aid him?" 

“ Alas! what hope could we have but in praying?" said 
Elizabeth, with tears in her eyes. “ Little one, we will be 
joined at least in our prayers and intercessions: thou wilt 
not forget in thine one who yet lives, unhaj^pier than all!" 

“ And, oh, my good, my holy queen, will you indeed 
pray for him — my husband? He was so good, his faith 
can surely not long be reckoned against him. He did not 
believe in purgatory! Perhaps — " Then frowning with a 
difficulty far beyond a fever-clouded brain, she concluded 


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120 


— “ At least, orisons may aid him! It is doing something 
for him! Oh, where are my beads? I can begin at once.^^ 

The queen put her arm round her, and together they 
said the ‘‘ De profundis,^^ — the queen understood every 
word far more for the living than the dead. Again Eliza- 
beth had given new life to Eustacie. Tire intercession for 
her husband was something to live for, and the severest 
convent was coveted, until she was assured that she would 
not be allowed to enter on any rule till she had time to re- 
cover her health, and show the constancy of her purpose by 
a residence at Bellaise. 

Ere parting, however, the queen bent over her, and col- 
oring, as if much ashamed of what she said, whispered — 
“ Child, not a word of the ceremony at Montpipeau! you 
understand? The king was always averse; it would bi'ing 
him and me into dreadful trouble with those others, and 
alas! it makes no difference now. You will be silent?’ ' 

And Eustacie signed her acquiescence, as indeed no diffi- 
culty was made in her being regarded as the widow of the 
Baron de Ribaumont, when she further insisted on procur- 
ing a widow’s dress before she quitted her room, and de- 
clared, with much dignity, that she should esteem no per- 
son her friend who called her Mile, de Nid-de-Merle. To 
this the Chevalier de Ribaumont was willing to give way; 
he did not care whether Narcisse married her as Berenger’s 
widow or as the separated maiden wife, and he thought her 
vehement opposition and dislike would die away the faster 
the fewer impediments were placed in her way. Both he 
and Diane strongly discouraged any attempt on ^^^arcisse’s 
part at a farewell interview; and thus unmolested, and 
under the constant soothing influence of reciting her pray- 
ers, in the trust that they were availing her husband, Eus- 
tacie rallied so much that about ten days after the dreadful 
St. Bartholomew, in the early morning, she was half led 
half carried down the stairs between her uncle and Ve- 
ronique. Her face was close muffled in her thick black veil, 
but when she came to the foot of the first stairs where' she 
had found Berenger’s cap, a terrible shuddering came on 
her; she again murmured something about the smell of 
blood and fell into a swoon. 

“ Carry her on at once,” said Diane who was following 
— “ there will be no end to it if you do not remove her im- 
mediately.’^ 


130 


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And thus shielded from the sight of Narcisse’s intended 
passionate gesture of farewell at the palace door_, Eustacie 
was laid at full length on the seat of the great ponderous 
family coach, where Veronique hardly wished to revive her 
till the eight horses should have dragged her beyond the 
streets of Paris, with their terrible associations, and the gib- 
bets still hung with the limbs of the murdered. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE BRIDEGROOM ARRIVAL. 

The starling flew to his mother’s window stane. 

It whistled and it sang, 

And aye, the ower word of the tune 
Was ‘ Johnnie tarries lang,’ 

Johnnie of Bredislee. 

There had been distrust and dissatisfaction at home for 
many a day past. Berenger could hardly be censured for 
loving his own wife, and yet his family were by no means 
gratified by the prospect of his bringing home a little 
French Papist, of whom Lady Thistlewood remembered 
nothing good. 

Lucy was indignantly fetched home by her step-mother, 
who insisted on treating her with extreme pity as a desert- 
ed maiden, and thus counteracting Aunt Cecily ^s wise 
representations, that there never should, and therefore 
never could, have been anything save fraternal affection be- 
tween the young people, and that pity was almost an insult 
to Lucy._ The good girl herself was made very uncom- 
fortable by these demonstrations, and avoided them as much 
as possible, chiefly striving in her own gentle way to pre- 
pare her little sisters to expect numerous charms in brother 
Berenger’s wife, and heartily agreeing with Philip that 
Berenger knew his own mind best. 

‘‘ And at any rate,^^ quoth Philip, “ wefil have the best 
bonfire that ever was seen in the country! Lucy, youTl 
coax my father to give us a tar-barrel!'’^ 

The tar-barrel presided over a monstrous pile of fagots, 
and the fisher-boys were promised a tester to whoever should 
first bring word to Master Philip that the young lord and 
lady were in the creek. 

Philip gave his pony no rest, between the lookout on the 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


131 


downs and the borders of the creek; but day after day 
passed^ and still the smacks from Jersey held no person 
worth mentioning; and still the sense of expectation kept 
Lucy starting at every sound, and hating herself for her 
own foll3^ . 

At last Philip burst into Combe Manor, fiery red with 
riding and consternation. ‘‘Oh! father, father, Paul 
DuvaPs boat is come in, and he says that the villain Papists 
have butchered every Protestant in France.-’^ 

Sir Marmaduke’s asseveration was of the strongest, that 
he did not believe a word of it. Nevertheless, he took his 
horse and rode down to interrogate Paul Duval, and charge 
him not to spread the report lest he should alarm the ladies. 

But the report was in the air. He went to the hall, and 
the butler met him with a grave face, and took Mm to the 
study, where Lord Walwyn was sitting over letters newly 
received from London, giving hints from the Low Coun- 
tries of bloody work in France. And when he returned to 
his home, his wife burst out upon him in despair. Here 
had they been certainly killing her poor boy. Not a doubt 
that he was dead. All from this miserable going to France, 
and that had been quite against her wijl. 

Stoutly did Sir Marmaduke persevere in his disbelief; 
but every day some fresh wave of tidings floated in. Mur- 
der wholesale had surely been perpetrated. Now came 
stories of death-bells at Rouen from the fishermen on the 
coast; now markets and petty sessions discussed the foul 
slaughter of the embassador and his household; truly relat- 
ed how the queen had put on mourning, and falsely that 
she had hung the French embassador La Mothe Fenelon. 
And Burleigh wrote to his old friend from London, that 
some horrible carnage had assuredly taken place, and that 
no news had yet been received of Sir Francis Walsingham 
or of his suite. 

All these days seemed so many years taken from the vital 
power of Lord Walwyn. Not only had his hopes and 
affections wound themselves closely around his grandson, 
but he reproached himself severely with having trusted him 
in his youth and inexperience among the seductive perils of 
Paris. The old man grieved over the promising young life 
cut off, and charged on himself the loss and grief to the 
women, whose stay he had trusted Berenger would have 
been. He said little, but his hand and head grew more 


132 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


• trembling ; he scarcely eat or slept, and seemed to waste 
from a vigorous elder to a feeble being in the extremity of 
old age, till Lady AValwyn had almost ceased to tliink of 
her grandson in her anxiety for her husband. 

Letters came at last. The messenger dispatched by Sir 
Francis Walsingham had not been able to proceed till the 
ways had become safe, and he had then been delayed; but 
on his arrival his tidings were sent down. There were let- 
ters both from Sir Francis Walsingham and from heart- 
broken Mr. Adderley, both to the same effect, with all 
possible praises of the young Baron de Eibaumont, all possi- 
ble reproach to themselves for having let him be betrayed 
into this most horrible snare, in which he had perished, 
without even a possibility of recovering his remains for 
honorable burial. Poor Mr. Adderley f lu’ther said that Mr. 
Sidney, who was inconsolable for the loss of his friend, had 
offered to escort him to the Low Countries, whence he 
would make his way to England, and would present him- 
self at Hurst Walwyn, if his lordship could endure the sight 
of his creature who had so miserably failed in his trust. 

Lord Walwyn read both letters twice through before he 
spoke. Then he took off his spectacles, laid them down, 
and said calmly, “ GTod^s will be done. I thank God that 
my boy was blameless. Better they slew him than sent 
him home tainted with their yices. 

The certainty, such as it was, seemed like repose after 
the suspense. They knew to what to resign themselves, 
and even Lady Thistlewood^s tempestuous grief had so 
spent itself ' that late in the evening the family sat round 
the fire in the hall, the old lord dozing as one worn out 
with sorrow, the others talking in hushed tones of that 
bright boyhood, that joyous light quenched in the night of 
carnage. 

The butler slowly entered the hall, and approached Sir 
Marmaduke cautiously. Can I speak with you, sir?^^ 

“ What is it, Davy?^^ demanded the lady, who first 
caught the words. “ What did you say?’^ 

“ Madame, it is Humfrey Holt!’^ 

Humfrey Holt was the head of the grooms who had gone 
with Berenger; and there was a general start and sup- 
pressed exclamation. ‘‘ Humfrey Holt!^'’ said Lord Wal- 
wyn, feebly drawing himself to sit upright^ “ hath lie, 
then, escaped? 


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133 


“ Yea, my lord/^ said Davy, “ and he brings news of 
my young lord.^^ 

‘‘Alack! Davy,^^ said Lady Walwyn, “such news had 
been precious awhile ago. 

“Nay, so please your ladyship, it is better than you 
deem. Humfrey says my young lord is yet living. ” 

“Living!"^ shrieked Lady Thistle wood, starting up. 
“ Living! My son! and where?^^ 

“ They are bearing him home, my lady,^^ said the but- 
ler, “ but I fear me, by what Humfrey says, that it is but 
in woful case.'’^ 

“ Bringing him home! Which way?^^ Philip darted off 
like an arrow from the bow. Sir Marmaduke hastily de- 
manded if aid were wanted; and Lady Walwyn, interpret- 
ing the almost inaudible voice of her husband, bade that 
Humfrey should be called in to tell his own story. 

Hands were held out in greeting, and blessings murmured, 
as the groom entered, looking battered and worn, and bow- 
ing low in confusion at being thus unusually conspicuous, 
and having to tell his story to the whole assembled family. 
To the first anxious question as to the condition of the 
young lord, he replied, “ Marry, my lady, the life is yet 
in him, and that is all. He hath been shot through the 
head and body, and slashed about the face so as it is a shame 
to see. Nor hath he done aught these three weary weeks 
but moan from time to time so as it is enough to break 
one^s heart to hear him; and I fear me '’tis but bringing 
him home to die. 

“ Even so, God be thanked; and you, too, honest Hum- 
frey, said Lady Walwyn. “Let us hear when and how 
this deed was done.^' 

“ Why, that, my lord, I can^t so well say, being that I 
was not with him; morels the pity, or I^d have known the 
reason why, or ever they laid a finger on him. But when 
Master Landry, his French foster-brother, comes, he will 
resolve you in his own tongue. I canT parleyvoo with him, 
but he^s an honest rogue for a Frenchman, and Twas he 
brought off my young lord. You see we were all told to be 
aboard the little French craft. Master Landry took me 
down and settled it all with the master, a French farmer 
fellow that came a horse-dealing to Paris. I knew what 
my young lord was after, but none of the other varlets did; 
and I went down and made as decent a place as 1 could be- 


134 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


tween decks. My lord and Master Landry were gone down 
to the court meantime, and we were to lie off till we heard 
a whistle like a mavis on the bank, then come and take 
them aboard. Well, we waited and waited, and all the 
lights were out, and not a sound did we hear till just an 
hour after midnight. Then a big bell rang out, not like a 
decent Christianable bell, but a great clash, then another, 
and a lot of strokes enough to take away one^s breath. 
Then half the windows were lighted up, and we heard shots, 
and screeches, and splashes, till, as I said to Jack Smithers, 
Twas as if one half the place was murthering the other. 
The farmer got frightened, and would have been off; but 
when I saw what he was at, ‘ No,^ says I, ‘ not an inch do 
we budge without news of my lord.'’ So Jack stood by the 
rope, and let them see that Twas as much as their life was 
worth to try to unmoor. Mercy, what a night it was! 
Shrieks and shouts, and shots and howls, here, there, and 
everywhere, and splashes into the river; and by and by we 
saw the poor murthered creatures come floating by. The 
farmer, he had some words with one of the boats near, and 
I heard somewhat of Huguenot and Hereteek, and I knew 
that was what they called good Protestants. Then up 
comes the farmer with his sons looking mighty ugly at us, 
and signing that unless we let them be off T would be the 
worse for us; and we began to think as how we had best be 
set ashore, and go down the flve of us to see if we could 
stand by my young lord in some strait, or give notice to 
my lord embassador. 

God reward you!^^ exclaimed Lady Walwyn. 

“ '’Twas only our duty, my lady,^^ gi'pflly answered 
llumfrey; “ but just as Hal had got on the quay, what 
sliould- I see but Master Landry coming down the street 
with my young lord on his back! I can tell you he was 
well-nigh spent; and just then half a dozen butcherly vil- 
lains came out on him, bawling, ‘ Tu-y! tu-y!^ which it 
seems means ‘ kill, kill. He returned about and showed 
them that he had got a white sleeve and white cross in his 
bonnet, like them, the rascals, giving them to understand 
that he was only going to throw the corpse into the river. 
I doubted him then myself; but he caught sight of us, and 
in his fashion of talk with us, called out to us to help, for 
there was life still. So two of us took my lord, and the 
other three gave the beggarly French cut-thi’oats as good as 


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135 


they meant for us; while Landry shouted to the farmer to 
wait, and we got aboard, and made right away down the 
river. But never a word has the poor young gentleman 
spoken, though Master Landry has done all a barber or a 
sick-nurse could do; and he got us past the cities by show- 
ing the papers in my lord^s pocket, so that we got safe to 
the farmer's place. There we lay till we could get a boat 
to Jersey, and thence again home; and may be my young 
lord will mend now Mistress Cecily will have the handling 
of him. " 

“ That is in the wisest hands, good Humfrey," said Lord 
Walwyn, as the tears of feeble age flowed down bis cheeks. 
“ May He who hath brought the lad safely so far spare him 
yet, and raise him up. But whether he live or die, you son 
and daughter Thistlewood will look that the faithfulness of 
Humfrey Holt and his comrades be never forgotten or un- 
rewarded. ' ' 

Humfrey again muttered something about no more than 
his duty; but by this time sounds were heard betokening 
the approach of the melancholy procession, who, having 
been relieved by a relay of servants sent at once from the 
house, were bearing home the wounded youth. Philip first 
of all dashed in hurrying and stumbling. He had been 
unprepared by hearing Humfrey's account, and, impetuous 
and affectionate as he was, was entirely unrestrained, and 
flinging himself on his knees with the half audible words, 
‘‘Oh! Lucy! Lucy! he is as good as dead!" hid his face 
between his arms on his sister's lap, and sobbed with the 
abandonment of a child, and with all liis youthful strength; 
so much adding to the consternation- and confusion, that, 
finding all Lucy's gentle entreaties vain, his father at last 
roughly pulled up his face by main force, and said,“ Philip, 
hold your tongue! Are we to have you on our hands as well 
as my lady? I shall send you home this moment! Let 
your sister go." 

This threat reduced the boy to silence. Lucy, who was 
wanted to assist in preparing Berenger's room, disengaged 
herself; but he remained in the same posture, his head bur- 
ied on the seat of the chair, and the loud weeping only for- 
cibly stifled by forcing his handkerchief into his mouth, as 
if he had been in violent bodily pain. Hor did he venture 
. again to look up as the cause of all his distress was slowly 
carried into the hall, corpse-like indeed. The bearers had 


136 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


changed several times, all but a tall, fair Norman youth, 
who through the whole transit had supported the head, en- 
deavoring to guard it from shocks. t\nien the mother and 
the rest came forward, he made a gesture to conceal the face, 
saying in French, “Ah! mesdames; this is no sight for 
you."" 

Indeed the head and face were almost entirely hidden by 
bandages, and it was not till Berenger had been safely de- 
posited on a large carved bed that the anxious relatives 
were permitted to perceive the number and extent of his 
hurts; and truly it was only by the breath, the vital 
warmth, and the heavy moans when he was disturbed, or 
the dressings of the wounds were touched, that showed him 
still to be a hving man. There proved to be no less than 
four wounds — a shot through the right shoulder, the right 
arm also broken with a terrible blow with a sword, a broad 
gash from the left temple to the rie:ht ear, and worse than 
all, “ ~baiser Eustaciey” a bullet- wound where the 
muzzle of the pistol had absolutely been so close as to have 
burned and blackened the cheek; so that his life was, as 
Osbert averred, chiefly owing to the assassin "s jealousy of 
his personal beauty, which had directed his shot to the 
cheek rather than the head; and thus, though the bullet 
had terribly shattered the upper jaw and roof of the mouth, 
and had passed out through the back of the head, there 
was a hope that it had not penetrated the seat of life or 
reason. The other gash on the face was but a sword- 
wound, and though frightful to look at, was unimpor- 
tant, compared with the first wound with the pistol-shot 
in the shoulder, with the arm broken and further in- 
jured by having served to suspend him round Osbert"s 
neck; but it was altogether so appalling a sight, that it 
was no wonder that Sir Marmaduke muttered low but deep 
curses on the cowardly ruffians; while his wife wept in 
grief as violent, though more silent, than her step-son "s, 
and only Cecily, gathered the faintest ray of hope. The 
wounds had been well cared for, the arm had been set, the 
hair cut away, and lint and bandages applied with a skill 
that surprised her, till she remembered that Landry Osbert 
had been bred up in preparation to be Berenger"s valet, 
and thus to practice those minor arts of surgery then re- 
quired in a superior body-servant. For his part, though 
his eyes looked red, aud his whole person exhausted by im- 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


137 


ceasing watching, he seemed unable to relinmiish the care 
of his master for a moment, and her nunnery French would 
not have persuaded him of her sufficiency as a nurse, had 
he not perceived her tender touch and ready skill. These 
were what made him consent to leave his post even for a 
short meal, and so soon as he had eaten it he was called to 
Lord Walwyn to supply the farther account which Hum- 
frey had been unable to give. He had waited, he explained, 
with a lackey, a friend of his in the palace, till he became 
alarmed by the influx of armed men, wearing white crosses 
and shirt-sleeves on their left arms, but his friend had as- 
sured him that his master had been summoned to the royal 
bed-chamber, where he would be as safe as in phurch; and 
obtaining from Landry Osbert himself, a perfectly true 
assurance of being a good Catholic, had supplied him with 
the badges that were needful for security. It was just then 
that madame^s maid crept down to hiS waiting-place with 
the intelligence that her mistress had been bolted in, and 
after a short consultation they agreed to go and see whether 
M. le Baron were indeed waiting, and, if he were, to warn 
him of the suspicious state of the lower regions of the pal- 
ace. 

They were just in time to see, but not to prevent the at- 
tack upon their young master; and while Veronique fled, 
screaming, Landry Osbert, who had been thrown back on 
the stairs in her sudden flight, recovered himself and has- 
tened to his master. The murderers, after their blows had 
been struck, had hurried along the corridor to join the body 
of assassins, whose work they had in effect somewhat an- 
ticipated. Landry, full of rage and -despair, was resolved at 
least to save his foster-brother^s corpse from further insult, 
and bore it down-stairs in his arms. On the way, he per- 
ceived that life was not yet extinct, and resolving to become 
doubly cautious, he sought in the pocket for the purse that 
had been well filled for the flight, and by the persuasive ar- 
gument of gold crowns, obtained egress from the door- 
keeper of the postern, where Berenger hoped to have 
emerged in a far different manner. It was a favorable 
moment, for the main body of the murderers were at that 
time being posted in the court by the captain of the guard, 
ready to massacre the gentlemen of the King of Navarrets 
suite, and he was therefore unmolested by any claimant of 
the plunder of the apparent corpse he bore on his shoulders. 


138 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


The citizens of Paris who had been engaged in their share 
of the murders for more than an hour before the tragedy 
began in the Louvre, frequently beset him on his way to 
the quay, and but for the timely aid of his English com- 
rades, he would hardly have brought off his foster-brother 
safely. 

The pass with which King Charles had provided Berehger 
for himself and his followers when his elopement was first 
planned, enabled Osbert to carry his whole crew safely past 
all the stations where passports were demanded. He had 
much wished to procure surgical aid at Rouen, but learn- 
ing from the boatmen on the river that the like bloody 
scenes were there being enacted, he had decided on going 
’ on to his master’s English home as soon as passible, merely 
trusting to his own skill by the way; and though it was the 
slightest possible hope, yet the healthy state of the wounds, 
and the mere fact of life continuing, had given him some 
faint trust that there might be a partial recovery. 

Lord Walwyn repeated his agitated thanks and praises 
for such devotion to his grandson. 

Osbert bowed, laid his hand on his heart, and replied — 
“ Monseigneur is good, but what say I? Monsieur le Baron 
is my foster-brother! Say that, and all is had in one. word.” 

He was then dismissed, with orders to take some rest, 
but he obstinately refused all commands in Erench or En- 
glish to go to bed, and was found some time after fast 
asleep. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

SWEET HEART. 

Ye hae marred a bonnier face than your ain. 

Dying words of the Bonnie Earl of Moray. 

One room at Hurst Walwyn, though large, wainscoted, 
and well furnished, bore as pertinaciously the air of a cell 
as the appearance of Sister Cecily St. John continued like 
that of a nun. There was a large sunny oriel, in which a 
thrush sung merrily in a wicker cage, and yet the very 
central point and leading feature of the room was the altar- 
like table, covered with rich needle-work, with a carved 
ebony crucifix placed on it, and on fhe wall above, quaint 
and stiff, but lovely featured, delicately tinted pictures of 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


139 


Our Lady in the center, and of St. Anne and St. Cecilia 
on either side, with skies behind of most ethereal blue, and 
robes tenderly trimmed with gold. A little shrine of pur- 
ple spar, with a crystal front, contained a fragment of 
sacred bone; a silver shell held holy water, perpetuated 
from some blessed by Bishop Kidley. 

“ With velvet bound and broidered o’er, 

Her breviary book ” 

lay open at ‘‘ Sext,^^ and there, too, lay with its three 
marks at the Daily Lessons, the Bishop ^s Bible, and the 
Common Prayer beside it. 

The elder Baron de Eibaumont had never pardoned Ce- 
cily his single glance at that table, and had seriously re- 
monstrated with his father-in-law for permitting its exist- 
ence, quoting Eachel, Achan, and Maachah. Yet he never 
knew of the hair-cloth smock, the discipline, the cord and 
sack-cloth that lay stored in the large carved awmry, and 
were secretly in use on every fast or vigil, not with any no- 
tion of merit, but of simple obedience, and with even deeper 
comprehension and enjoyment of their spiritual signifiance, 
of which, in her cloister hfe, she had comprehended little. 

It was not she, however, who knelt with bowed head and 
clasped hands before the altar-table, the winter sunbeams 
making the shadows of the ivy-sprays dance upon the deep 
mourning dress and pale cheek. The eyelashes were heavy 
with tear-drops, and veiled eyes that had not yet attained to 
the region of calm, like the light quivering of the lips, 
showed that here w'as the beginning of the course of trial 
through which serenity might be won, and forever. 

By and by the latch was raised, and Cecily came for- 
ward. Lucy rose quickly to her feet, and while giving and 
returning a fond embrace, asked with her eyes the question 
that Cecily answered, “ Still in the same lethargy. The 
only shade of sense that I have seen is an unclosing of the 
eyes, a wistful look whenever the door opened, and a shiver 
through all his frame whenever the great bell rings, till my 
lord forbade it to be sounded. 

“ That frightful bell that the men told us of,'^ said Lucy 
shuddering; “ oh, what a heart that murderess must have 
had!’^ 

‘‘ Hold, Lucy! H_^w should we judge her, who may at 
this moment be weeping in desolation?’" 


140 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


Lucy looked up astonished. Aunt/'’ she said, you 
have been so long shut up with him that you hardly can 
have heard^ll — how she played fast and loose, and for the 
sake of a mere pageant put off the flight from the time 
when it would have been secure even until that dreadful 
eve!^’ 

‘‘ I know it,^^ said Cecily. ‘‘ I fear me much that her 
sin has been great; yet, Lucy, it were better to pray for 
her than to talk wildly against her. 

“ Alas!’-’ murmured Lucy, I could bear it and glory in 
it when it seemed death for the faith’s sake, but,” and the 
tears burst out, to find he was only trapped and slain for 
the sake of a faithless girl — and that he should love her 
still.” 

She is his wife,” said Cecily. “ Child, from my soul 
I grieve for you, but none the less must I, if no other will, 
keep before your eyes that our Berenger’s faith belongs 
solely to her.” 

“ You — you never would have let me forget it,” said 
Lucy. Indeed I am more maidenly when not alone with 
you! I know verily that he is loyal, and that my hatred to 
her is more than is meet. I will — I will pray for her, but 
I would that you were in your convent still, and that I 
could hide me there.” 

“ That were scarce enough,” said Cecily. ‘‘ One sister 
we had who had fled to our house to hide her grief when 
her betrothed had wedded another. She took her sorrows 
for her vocation, strove to hurry on her vows, and when 
they were taken, she chafed and fretted under them. It 
was she wLo wrote to the commissioner the letter that led 
to the visitation of our house, and, moreover, she was the 
only one of us who married.” 

“ To her own lover?” 

“ No, to a brewer at Winchester! I say not that you could 
ever be like poor sister Bridget, but only that the cloister 
has no charm to still the heart — prayer and duty can do as 
much without as within.” 

“ When we deemed her worthy, I was glad of his happi- 
ness,” said Lucy, thoughtfully. 

“You did, my dear, and I rejoiced. Think now how 
grievous it must be with her, it' she, as I fear she may, 
yielded her heart to those, who told her that to insnare 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 141 

him was her duty, or if indeed she were as much deceived 
as he.^^ 

“Then she will soon be comforted/^ said Lucy, still 
with some bitterness in her voice; bitterness of which she 
herself was perhaps conscious, for suddenly dropping on 
her knees, she hid her face, and cried, “ Oh, help me to 
pray for her. Aunt Cecily, and that I may do her wrong no 
more!^^ 

And Cecily, in her low conventual chant, sung, almost 
/inder her breath, the noonday Latin hymn, the words of 
which, long familiar to Lucy, had never as yet so come 
home to her: 

“ Quench Thou the fires of heat and strife, 

The wasting fever of the heart: 

From perils guard our feeble life, 

And to our souls Thy help impart.” 

Cecily ^s judgment would have been thought weakly 
charitable by all the rest of the family. Mr. Adderley had 
been forwarded by Sir Francis Walsingham like a bale of 
goods, and arriving in a mood of such self-reproach as 
would be deemed abject by persons used to the modern re- 
lations between noblemen and their chaplains, was exhil- 
arated by the unlooked-for comfort of finding his young- 
charge at least living, and in his grandfather^s house. From 
his narrative, Walsingham’s letters, and Osbert's accoimt. 
Lord Walwyn saw no reason to doubt that the Black 
Kibaumonts had thought the massacre a favorable moment 
for sweeping the only survivor of the White or elder branch 
away, and that not only had royalty lent itself to the cruel 
project, but that as Diane de Ribaumont had failed as a 
bait, the young espoused wife had herself been employed 
to draw him into the snare, and secure his presence at the 
slaughter-house, away from his safe asylum of the embassa- 
doFs, or even in the king's garde-robe. It was an unspeak- 
ably frightful view to take of the case, yet scarcely worse 
than the reality of many of the dealings of those with whom 
the poor young girl had been associated; certainly not 
worse than the crimes, the suspicion of which was resting 
on the last Dowager Queen of France; and all that could be 
felt by the sorrowing family, was comfort, that at least cor- 
ruption of mind had either not been part of the game, or 
had been unsuccessful, and, by all testimony, the victim 


142 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


was still the same innocent boy. This was all their relief, 
while for days, for weeks, Berenger de Ribaumont lay in a 
trance or torpor between life and death. Sometimes, as 
Cecily had said, his eyes turned with a startled wistfulness 
toward the door, and the sound of a bell seemed to thrill 
him with a start of agony; but for the most part he neither 
appeared to see or hear, and a few moans were the only 
sounds that escaped him. The queen, in her atfection f oi- 
lier old friend, and her strong feeling for the victims of the 
massacre, sent down the court physician, who turned him 
about, and elicited sundry heavy groans, but could do no 
more than enjoin patient waiting on the beneficent powers 
of nature in early youth. His visit produced one benefit, 
namely, the strengthening of Cecily St. Johns’s hands 
against the charms, elixirs, and nostrums with which Lady 
Thistle woody’s friends supplied her — plasters from the 
cunning women of Lyme Regis, made of powder of giants^ 
bones, and snakes prayed into stone by St. Aldhelm, pills 
of live woodlice, and fomentations of living earthworms 
and spiders. Great was the censure incurred by Lady 
AValwyn for refusing to let such remedies be tried on her 
grandson. And he was so much more her child than his 
mother’s, that l)ame Annora durst do no more than maun- 
der. 

In this perfect rest, it seemed as if after a time “ the 
powders of nature ’ ’ did begin to rally, there were appear- 
ances of healing about the wounds, the difference between 
sleeping and waking became more evident, the eyes lost 
the painful, half-closed, vacant look, but were either shut 
or opened with languid recognition. The injuries were 
such as to exclude him from almost every means of expres- 
sion, the wound in his mouth made speech impossible, and 
his right arm was not available for signs. It was only the 
clearness of his eyes, and their response to what was said, 
that showed that his mind was recovering tone, and then 
he seemed only alive to the present, and to perceive noth- 
ing but what related to his suffering and its alleviations. 
The wistfulness that luid shown itself at first was gone, and 
even when he improved enough to establish a language of 
signs with eye, lip, or left hand, Cecily became convinced 
that he had little or no memory of recent occurrences, and 
that finding himself at home among familiar faces, his still 
dormant perceptions demanded no further explanation. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


143 


This blank was the inost favorable state for his peace and 
for his recovery, and it was of long duration, lasting even 
till he had made so much progress that he could leave his 
bed, and even speak a few words, though his weakness was 
much prolonged by the great difficulty with which he could 
take nourishment. About two winters before, Cecily had 
successfully nursed him through a severe attack of small- 
pox, and she thought that he confounded his present state 
with the former illness, when he had had nearly the same 
attendants and surroundings as at present; and that his 
faculties were not yet roused enough to perceive the incon- 
gruity. 

Once or twice he showed surprise at visits from his mother 
or Philip, who had then been entirely kept away from him, 
and about Christmas he brightened so much, and awoke to 
things about him so much more fully, that Cecily thought 
the tinie of recollection could not be much longer deferred. 
Any noise, however, seemed so painful to him, that the 
Christmas festivities* were held at Combe Manor instead of 
Hurst Walwyn; only after church. Sir Marmaduke and 
Lady Thistlewood came in to make him a visit, as he sat in 
a large easy-chair by his bedroom-fire, resting after having 
gone through as much of the rites of the day as he was 
able for, with Mr. Adderley. The room looked very cheer- 
ful with the bright wood-fire on the open hearth, shining 
on the gay tapestry hangings^ and the dark wood Of the 
carved bed. The evergreen-decked window shimmered 
with sunshine, and even the patient, leaning back among 
crimson cushions, though his face and head were ghastly 
enough wherever they were not covered with patches and 
bandages, still had a pleasant smile with lip and eye to 
thank his step-father for his cheery wishes of a merry 
Christmas, at least one better in health.^’’ 

I did not bring the little wenches, Berenger, lest they 
should weary you,^^ said his mother. 

Berenger looked alarmed, and said with the indistinct- 
ness with which he always spoke, “ Have they caught it? 
Are they marked?” 

“ No, no, not like you, my boy,^^ said Sir Marmaduke, 
sufficiently aware of Berenger's belief to be glad to keep it 
up, and yet obliged to walk to the window to hide his di- 
version at the notion of his little girls catching the conta- 
gion of sword gashes and bullet-wounds. Dame Annora 


144 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


prattled on, ‘‘ But they have sent you their Christmas gifts 
by me, poor children, they have long been busied with 
them, and I fancy Lucy -did half herself. See, this ker- 
chief is. hemmed by little Dolly, and here are a pair of 
bands and cuft's to match, that Nanny and Bessy have been 
broidering with their choicest stitchery.'’^ 

Berenger smiled, took, expressed admiration by gesture, 
and then said in a dreamy, uncertain manner: “ Me- 
thought I had some gifts for them;” then looking' round 
the room, his eye fell on a small brass-bound casket which 
had traveled with him to hold his valuables; he pointed to 
it with a pleased look, as Sir Marmaduke lifted it and placed 
it on a chair by his side. The key, a small ornamental 
brass one, was in his purse, not far off, and Lady Thistle- 
wood was full of exceeding satisfaction at the unpacking 
not only of foreign gifts, but as she hoped, of the pearls; 
Cecily meantime stole quietly in, to watch that her 23atient 
was not overwearied. 

He wa{5 resuming the use of his right arm, though it was 
still weak and stiff, and he evidently had an instinct against 
letting any one deal with that box but himself; he tried 
himself to unlock it, and though forced to leave this to Sir 
Marmaduke, still leaned ovei; it when opened, as if to pre- 
vent his mother’s curious glances from penetrating its re- 
cesses, and allowed no hands near it but his own. He first 
brought out a pretty feather fan, saying as he held it to his 
mother, “ For Nan, I promised it. It was bought at the 
Halles,” he added, more dreamily. 

Then again he dived, and brought out a wax medallion 
of Our Lady guarded by angels, and made the sign that 
always brought Cecily to him. He held it up to her with 
a puzzled smile, saying, ‘‘ They thought me a mere Papist 
for buying it — Monsieur de Teligny, 1 think it was.” 

They had heard how the good and beloved Teligny had 
been shot down on the roof of his father-in-law’s house, by 
rabid assassins, strangers to his person, when all who knew 
him had spared him, from love to his gentle nature; and 
the name gave a strange thrill. 

He muttered something about “ Peddler — Montpipeau ” 
—and still continued. Then came a small silver casket, 
diffusing an odor of attar of roses— he leaned back in his 
chair— and his motlier would have taken it from him, sup- 
posing him overcome by the scent, but he held it fast and 


THE CHAPIvET OF PEARLS. 


145 


shook his head, saying, “ For Lucy — but she must give it 
herself. She gave uj^ any gift for herself for it — she said 
we needed no love-tokens.'’^ And he closed his eyes. Dame 
Annora plunged into the impacking, and brought out a 
pocket-mirror with enameled cupids in the corners, ad- 
dressed to herself; and then came upon Berenger’s own. 

Again came a fringed pair of gloves among the personal 
jewelery such as gentlemen were wont to wear, the rings, 
clasps and brooches he had carried from home. Dame 
Annora ^s impatience at last found vent in the exclamation, 
“ The pearls, son; I do not see the chaplet of pearls.'” 

, “ She had them,^'’ answered Berenger, in a matter-of-fact 
tone, “ to wear at the mask.’’^ 

‘‘She—” 

Sir Marmaduke^s great hand choked, as it were, the 
query on his wife^s lips, unseen by her son, who, as if the 
words had touched some chord, was more eagerly seeking 
in the box, and presently drew out a bow of carnation rib- 
bon with a small piece of paper full of pin-holes attached 
to it. At once he carried it to his lips, kissed it fervently, 
and then, sinking back in his chair, seemed to be trying to 
gather up the memory that had prompted the impulse, 
knitted his brows together, and then suddenly exclaimed, 
“ Where is she?” 

His mother tried the last antecedent. ‘‘ Lucy she shall 
come and thank you to-morrow.'” 

He shook his head with a vehement negative, beckoned 
Cecily impatiently, and said earnestly, “Is it the conta- 
gion? Is she sick? I will go to her. ” 

Cecily and Sir Marmaduke both replied with a “ No, 
no!'’'’ and were thankful, though in much suspense at the 
momentary pause, while again he leaned back on the cush- 
ions, looked steadily at the pin-holes, that formed them- 
selves into the word “ Sweet heart,” then suddenly began 
to draw up the loose sleeve of his wrapping-gown and un- 
button the wristband of his right sleeve. His mother tried 
to help him, asking if he had hurt or tired his arm. They 
would have been almost glad to hear that it was so, but he 
shook her off impatiently, and the next moment had a view 
of the freshly skinned over, but still wide and gaping gash 
on his arm. He looked for a brief space, and said, It is 
a sword-cut.” 

“ Truly it is, lad,” said Sir Marmaduke, “ and a very 


146 


THE CHA PLET OF PEA ELS. 


bad one, happily whole! Is this the first time you have seen 
it?’" 

He did not answer, but covered his eyes with his hand, 
and presently burst out again, “ Then it is no dream? Sir — 
Have I been to France?” 

‘‘Yes, my son, you have,” said Sir Marmaduke, gently, 
and with more tenderness than could have been looked for; 

but what passed there is much better viewed as a dream, 
and cast behind your back. ” 

Berenger had, while he spoke, taken up the same little 
mirror where he had once admired himself; and as he be- 
held the scar and plaster that disfigured his face, with a 
fresh start of recollection, muttered over, “ ‘ Baurbouiller, 
ce cliien de visage ’ — ay, so he said. I felt the pistol’s 
muzzle touch! Narcisse! Has God had mercy on me? I 
prayed Him. Ah! ^ lebaiser Eustacie^ — so he said. I 
was waiting in the dark. Why did he come instead of her? 
Oh! father, where is she?” 

It was a sore task, but Sir Marmaduke went bravely and 
bluntly, though far from unkindly, to the point: “ She re- 
mains with her friends in France.” 

There the youth’s look of utter horror and misery 
shocked and startled them all, and he groaned rather than 
said, ‘‘Left there! Left to them! What have I done to 
leave her there?” 

“ Come, Berenger, this will not serve,” said his mother, 
trying to rouse and cheer him. “You should rather be 
thankful that when you had been so foully insnared by 
their wiles, good Osbert brought you otf with your life 
away from those bloody doings. Yes, you may thank 
Heaven and Osbert, for you are the only one of them living 
now. ” 

“Of whom, mother?” 

“ Of all the poor Protestants that like you were deluded 
by the pack of murderers over there. What” — fancying 
it would exhilarate him to hear of his own escape — “ you 
knew not that the bloody Guise and the Paris cut-throats 
rose and slew every Huguenot they could lay hands on? 
Why, did not the false wench put off your foolish runaway 
project for the very purpose of getting you into the trap on 
the night of the massacre?” 

He looked with a piteous, appealing glance from her to 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 147 

Cecily and Sir Marmaduke, as if in hopes that they would 
contradict. 

‘‘Too true, my lad,^^ said Sir Marmaduke. “ It is 
Heaven's good mercy that Osbert carried you out alive. 
No other Protestant left the palace alive but the King of 
Navarre and his cousin, who turned renegades." 

“ And she is left there?" he repeated. 

“ Heed her not, my dear boy," began his mother; “ you 
are safe, and must forget her ill-faith and — " 

Berenger seemed scarcely to hear this speech — he held 
out his hands as if stunned and dizzied, and only said, or 
rather indicated, “ Let me lie down." 

His step-father almost carried him across the room, and 
laid him on his bed, where he turned away from the light 
and shut his eyes; but the knot of ribbon and the pin- 
pricked word was still in his hand, and his mother longed 
to take away the token of this false love, as' she believed it. 
The great clock struck the hour for her to go. “ Leave 
him quiet," said Cecily, gently; “he can bear no more 
now. I will send over in the evening to let you know how 
he fares." 

‘ ‘ But that he should be so set on the little blood-thirsty 
baggage," sighed Lady Thistle wood; and then going up to 
her son, she poured out her explanation of being unable to 
stay, as her parents were already at the Manor, with no bet- 
ter entertainers than Lucy, Philip, and the children. She 
thanked him for the gifts, which she would take to them 
with his love. All this passed by him as though he heard 
it not, but when leaning down, she kissed his forehead, and 
at the same time tried to withdraw the knot of ribbon, his 
fingers closed on it with a grasp like steel,’ so cold were 
they, yet so fast. 

Sir Marmaduke lingered a few moments behind her, and 
Berenger opening his eyes, as if to see whether solitude had 
been achieved, found the kind-hearted knight gazing at 
him with eyes full of tears. “ Berry, my lad," he said, 
“ bear it like a man. I know how hard it is. There's not 
a woman of them all that an honest, plain Englishman 
has a chance with, when a smooth-tongued Erenchman 
comes round her! But a man may live a true and honest 
life however sore his heart may be, and God Almighty 
makes it up to him if he faces it out manfully. " 

Good Sir Marmaduke in his sympathy had utterly for- 


148 


THE CHAPLET OF PEA ELS. 


gotten both Berenger^-s French blood, and that he was the 
son of the very smooth-tongued interloper who had robbed 
his life of its first bloom. Bereuger was altogether unequal 
to do more than murmur, as he held out his hand in re- 
sponse to the kindness, “ You do not know her.'’^ 

“Ah! poor lad. Sir Marmaduke shook his head and 
left him to Cecily. 

After the first shock, Berenger never rested till he had 
made Osbert, Mr. Adderley, and Cecily tell him all they 
knew, and asked by name after those whom he had known 
best at Paris. Alas ! of all those, save such as had been in 
the embassador^s house, there was but one account to give. 
Venerable warrior, noble-hearted youth, devoted pastor, all 
alike had perislied! 

This frightful part of the story was altogether new to 
him. He had been probably the earliest victim in the Lou- 
vre, as being the special object of private malice, which 
had contrived to involve him in the general catastrophe; 
and his own recollections carried him only to the flitting of 
lights and ringing of bells, that had made him imagine that 
an alarm of fire would afford a good opjDortunity of escape 
if she would but come. A cloaked figure had aj)proached 
— he had held out his arms — met that deadly stroke — heard 
the words hissed in liis ear. 

He owned that for some time past strange recollections 
had been flitting through his mind — a perpetual unsatisfied 
longing for and expectation of his wife, and confused im- 
pressions of scenes and people that harassed him i3erpetu- 
ally, even when he could not discern between dreams and 
reality; but knowing that he had been very ill, he had en- 
deavored to account for everything as delirious fancies, but 
had become increasingly distressed by their vividness, con- 
fusion, and want of outward confirmation. At last these 
solid tokens and pledges from that time had brought cer- 
tainty back, and with it the harmony and clearness of his 
memory; and the strong affection, that even his oblivion 
had not extinguished, now recurred in all its warmth to its 
object. 

Four months had passed, as he now discovered, since 
that night when he had hoped to have met Eustacie, and 
she must be believing him dead. His first measure on the 
following day when he had been dressed and seated in his 


THE CHAPLET OP PEARLS. 


140 


chair was to send for his casket, and with liis slow stiff arm 
write thus: 

'‘Moh C(eur, my owh Sweetheart, — Hast thou 
thought me dead, and thyself deserted? Oshert . will tell 
thee all, and why I can scarce write. Trust thyself to him 
to bring to me. I shall be whole seeing thee. Or if thou 
canst not come with him, write or send me the least token 
by him, and I will come and bear thee home so soon as I 
can put foot in stirrup. Would that I could write all that 
is in my heart! 

“ Thy Husbahd. 

It was all that either head or hand would enable him to 
say, but he had the fullest confidence in Landry Osbert, 
who was one of the few who understood him at half a word. 
He desired Osbert to seek the lady out wherever she might 
be, whether still at court or in a convent, convey the letter 
to her if possible, and, if she could by any means escape, 
obtain from Chateau Leurre such an escort as she could 
come to England with. If, as was too much to be feared, 
she was under too close restraint, Osbert should send intel- 
ligence home, as he could readily do through the embassa- 
dor^s household, and Berenger trusted by that time to be 
able to take measures for claiming her in person. 

Osbert readily undertook everything, but supplies for his 
journey were needed, and there was an absolute commotion 
in the house when it was known that Berenger had been 
writing to his faithless spouse, and wishing to send for her. 
Lord Walwyn came up to visit his grandson, and explain 
to him with much pity and consideration that he considered 
such a step as vain, and only likely to lead to further in- 
sult. Berenger'^s respect forced him to listen without inter- 
ruption, and though he panted to answer, it was a matter 
of much difficulty, for the old lord was becoming deaf, and 
could not catch the indistinct, agitated words: 

‘‘ My lord, she is innocent as day.-’^ 

“ Ah! Anan, boy?^^ 

“ I jdedge my life on her love and innocence.^^ 

“ Love! yes, my poor boy; but if she be unworthy? Eh? 
Cecily, what says lie?^^ 

He is sure of her innocence, sir. 

“ That is of course. But, my dear lad, you will soon 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


150 

learn that even a gentle, good woman who has a conscience- 
keeper, is too apt to think her very sense of right ought to 
be sacrificed to what she calls her religion. What is it, 
what is he telling you, Cecily?^’’ 

“ She was ready to be one of us,^^ Berenger said, with a 
great effort to make it clear. 

“ Ah, a further snare. Poor child! The very softest of 
them become the worst deceivers, and the kindred who 
have had the charge of her all their life could no doubt 
bend her will. 

“ Sir, said Berenger, finding argument impossible, “ if 
you will but let me dispatch Osbert, her answer will prove 
to you what she is.-’^ 

‘ ‘ There is something in that, said Lord W alwyn, when 
he had heard it repeated by Cecily. ‘‘ It is, of course, 
needful that both she and her relations should be aware of 
Berenger \s life, and I trow nothing but the reply will con- 
vince him.’^ 

“ Convince him!^^ muttered Berenger. “ Oh, that I 
could make him understand. What a wretch I am to have 
jio voice to defend her!^^ 

“ What?'^ said the old lord again. 

“ Only that I could speak, sir; you should know why it 
is sacrilege to doubt her.'’^ 

‘‘Ah! well, we will not wound you, my son, while talk 
is vain. You shall have the means of sending your groom, 
if thus you will set your mind at rest, though I had rather 
have trusted to Walsingham^s dealing. I will myself give 
him a letter to Sir Francis, to forward him on his way; and 
should the young lady prove willing to hold to her contract 
and come to you here, I will pray him to do everything to 
aid her that may be consistent with his duty in his post. 

This was a great and wonderful concession for Lord Wal- 
wyn, and Berenger was forced to be contented with it, 
though it galled him terribly to have Eustacie distrusted, 
and be unable to make his vindication even heard or under- 
stood, as well as to be forced to leave her rescue, and even 
his own explanation to her, to a mere servant. 

This revival of his memory had not at all conduced to 
his progress in recovery. His brain was in no state for ex- 
citement or agitation, and pain and confusion were the con- 
sequence, and were counteracted, after the practice of the 
time, by profuse bleedings, which prolonged his weakness. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


lol 


I’lie splintered state of the jaw and roof of the mouth like- 
wise produced effects that made him suffer severely, and 
deprived him at times even of the small power of speech 
that he usually possessed ; and though he had set his heart 
upon being able to start for Paris so soon as OsberPs an- 
swer should arrive, each little imprudence he committed, 
in order to coiwince himself of his progress, threw him 
back so seriously, that he was barely able to walk down- 
stairs to the hall, and sit watching — watching, so that it 
was piteous to see him — the gates of the courtyard, by the 
time that, on a cold March day, a booted and spurred 
courier (not Osbert) entered by them. 

Pie sprung up, and faster than he had yet attempted to 
move, met the man in the hall, and demanded the packet. 
It was a large one, done up in canvas, and addressed to the 
Eight Honorable and AVorshipful Sir AVilliam, Baron AVal- 
wyn of Hurst AValwyn, and he had further to endure the 
delay of carrying it to his grandfather^s lihraiy, which he 
entered with far less delay and ceremony than was his 
wont. “ Sit down, Berenger,^^ said the old man, while 
addressing himself to the fastenings; and the permission 
was needed, for he could hardly have stood another minute. 
The covering contained a letter to Lord A\^alwyn himself, 
and a packet addressed to the Baron de Ribaumont, which 
his trembling fingers could scarcely succeed in cutting and 
tearing open. 

How shall it be told what the contents of the packet 
were? Lord AValwyn reading on with much concern, but 
little surprise, was nevertheless startled by the fierce shout 
with which Berenger broke out : 

‘‘ A lie! a lie forged in hellP^ And then seizing the 
parchment, was about to rend it with all the force of pas- 
sion, when his grandfather, seizing liis hand, said, in his 
calm, authoritative voice, ‘‘ Patience, my poor son."*^ 

‘‘ How, how should I have patience when they send me 
such poisoned lies as these of my wife, and she is in the 
power of the villains. Grandfather, I must go instantly — 

Let me know what you have heard,” said Lord AVal- 
wyn, holding him feebly indeed, but with all the impress- 
ive power and gravity of his years. 

Falsehoods,'’^ said Berenger, pushing the whole mass 
of papers over to him, and then hiding his head between 
his arms on the table. 


152 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


Lord Walwyn finished his own letter first. Walsingham 
wrote with much kind compassion, but quite decisively. He 
had no doubt that the Kibaumont family had acted as one 
wheel in the great plot that had destroyed all the heads of 
Protestant families and swept away among others, as they 
had hoped, the only scion of the rival house. The old Chev- 
alier de Ribaumont had, he said, begun by expressing sor- 
row for the mischance that had exposed his brave young 
cousin to be lost in the general catastrophe, and he had 
professed proportionate satisfaction on hearing of the young 
man^s safety. But the embassador believed him to have 
been privy to his son^s designs; and whether Mile, de Nid- 
de-Merle herself had been a willing agent or not, she cer- 
tainly had remained in the hands of the family. The de- 
cree annulling the marriage had been published, the lady 
was in a convent in Anjou, and Harcisse de Ribaumont 
had just been permitted to assume the title of Marquis de 
Nid-de-Merle, and was gone into Anjou to espouse her. Sir 
Rriincis added a message of commiseration for the young 
baron, but could not help congratulating his old friend on 
having his grandson safe and free from these inconvenient 
ties. 

Berenger's own packet contained, in the first place, a 
copy of the cassation of the marriage, on the ground of its 
having been contracted when the parties were of too tender 
age to give their legal consent, and its having been unsatis- 
fied since they had reached ecclesiastical years for lawful 
contraction of wedlock. 

The second was one of the old chevalier’s polite produc- 
tions. He was perfectly able to ignore Berenger’s revoca- 
tion of his application for the separation, since the first let- 
ter had remained unanswered, and the king’s peremptory 
commands had prevented Berenger from taking any operi 
measures after his return from Montpipeau. Thus the old 
gentleman, after expressing due rejoicing at his dear young 
cousin’s recovery, and regret at the unfortunate mischance 
that had led to his being confounded with the many sus- 
jiected Huguenots, proceeded as if matters stood exactly as 
tliey had been before the pall-mall party, and as if the de- 
cree that he inclosed were obtained in accordance with the 
young baron’s intentions. He had caused it to be duly 
registered, and both parties were at liberty to enter upon 
other contracts of matrimony. The further arrangenrents 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


153 


which Berenger had undertaken to sell his lands in Nor- 
mandy, and his claim on the ancestral castle in Picardy, 
should he carried out, and deeds sent for his signature so 
soon as he should be of age. In the meantime, the cheva- 
lier courteously imparted to his fair cousin the marriage of 
his daughter. Mile. Diane de Ribaumont with M. le Comte 
de Selinville, which had taken place on the last St. MartiiPs- 
day, and of his niece. Mile. Eustacie de Ribaumont de Nid- 
de-Merle with his son, who had received permission to take 
her father's title of Marquis de Nid-de-Merle. The wed- 
ding was to take place at Bellaise before the end of the 
carnival, and would be concluded before this letter came to 
hand. 

Lastly, there was an ill written and spelled letter, run- 
ning somewhat thus: 

Monseigheur, — ^Your faithful servant hopes that 
Monsieur le Baron will forgive him for not returning, since 
I have been assured by good priests that it is not possible to 
save my soul in a country of heretics. I have done every- 
thing as monsieur commanded, I have gone down into An- 
jou, and have had the honor to see the young lady to whom 
’Monsieur le Baron charged me with a commission, and I 
delivered to her his letter, whereupon the lady replied that 
she thanked Monsieur le Baron for the honor he had done 
her, but that being on the point of marriage to Monsieur 
le Marquis de Nid-de-Merle, she did not deem it fitting to 
write to him, nor had she any tokens to send him, save 
what he had received on the St. Barthelemy midnight; they 
might further his suit elsewhere. These, monsieur, were 
her words, and she laughed as she said them, so gayly that 
I thought her fairer than ever. I have prevailed with her 
to take me into her service as intendant of the Chateau de 
Nid-de-Merle, knowing as she does, my fidelity to the name 
of Ribaumont. And so, trusting monseigneur will pardon 
me for what I do solely for the good of my soul, I will ever 
pray for his welfare, and remain, 

“ His faithful menial and valet, 

“ Lahdry Osbert." 

The result was only what Lord Walwyn had anticipated, 
but he was nevertheless shocked at the crushing weight of 
the blow. His heart was full of compassion for the youth 


154 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


SO cruelly treated in these his first years of life, and as much 
torn in his affections as mangled in person. After a pause, 
while he gathered up the sense of the letters, he laid his 
hand kindly on his grandson ^s arm, and said, This is a wo- 
ful budget, my poor son; we will do our best to help you 
to bear it.-’^ 

“ The only way to bear it,^-’ said Berenger, lifting up his 
face, “ is for me to take horse and make for Anjou in- 
stantly. She will hold out bravely, and I may yet save her. 

“ Madness,'’^ said his grandfather; you have then not 
read your fellow '’s letter?" 

‘‘ I read no letter from fellow of mine. Yonder is a vile 
forgery. Narcisse^’s own, most likely. No one else would 
have so profaned her as to put such words into her mouth! 
My dear faithful foster-brother — have they murdered him?" 

“ Can you point to any proof that it is forged?’^ said 
Lord Walwyn, aware that handwriting was too difficult an 
art, and far too crabbed, among persons of Osbert^s class, 
for there to be any individuality of penmanship. 

“ It is all forged, said Berenger. ‘‘It is as false that 
she could frame such a message as that poor Osbert would 
leave me. " 

“ These priests have much power over the conscience,^'’ 
began Lord Walwyn; but Berenger, interrupting his grand- 
father for the first time in his life, cried, “ No priest could 
change her whole nature. Oh! my wife! my darling! what 
may they not be inflicting on her now? Sir, I must go. 
She may be saved! The de^ly sin may be prevented!” 

“This is mere raving, Berenger,” said Lord Walwyn, 
not catching half what he said, and understanding little 
more than his resolution to hasten in quest of the lady. 
“You, who have not mounted a horse, nor walked across 
the pleasaunce yet!” 

“ My limbs should serve me to rescue her, or they are 
worth nothing to me.” 

Lord Walwyn would have arged that he need not regret 
liis incapacity to move, since it was no doubt already too 
late, but Berenger burst forth — “ She will resist; she will 
resist to the utmost, even if she deems me dead. Tortures 
will not shake her when she knows I live. I must prepare.” 
And he started to his feet. 

“ Grandson,” said Lord Walwyn, laying a hand on his 
arm, “ hsten to me. You are in no state to judge for 


THE CHAPLET OE PEAKLS. 


155 


yourself. I therefore command you to desist from this mad 



-ose. 


He spoke gravely, but Berenger was disobedient for the 
first time. My lord/' he said, “ you are but my grand- 
father. She is my wife. My duty is to her. " . 

He had plucked his sleeve away and was gone, before 
Lord Walwyn had been able to reason with him that there 
was no wife in the case, a conclusion at which the old states- 
man would not have arrived had he known of the ceremony 
at Montpipeau, and all that had there passed; but not only 
did Berenger deem himself bound to respect the king's se- 
cret, but conversation was so difficult to him that he had 
told very little of his adventures, and less to Lord Walwyn 
than any one else. In effect, his grandfather considered 
this resolution of going to France as mere frenzy, and so it 
almost was, not only on the score of health and danger, 
but because as a ward, he was still so entirely under sub- 
jection, that his journey could have been hindered by ab- 
solutely forcible detention; and to this Lord Walwyn in- 
tended to resort, unless the poor youth either came to a 
more rational mind, or became absolutely unable to travel. 

The last — as he had apprehended — came to pass only too 
surely. The very attempt to argue, and to defend Eustacie 
was too much for the injured head; and long before night 
Berenger fully believed himself on the journey, acted over 
its incidents, and struggled wildly with difficulties, all the 
time lying on his bed, with the old servants holding him 
down, and Cecily listening tearfully to his ravings. 

For weeks longer he was to lie there in greater danger 
than ever. He only seemed soothed into quiet when Cecily 
chanted those old Latin hymns of her Benedictine rule, and 
then — when he could speak at all — he showed himself to be 
in imagination praying in Eustacie's convent chapel, sure 
to speak to her when Sie service should be over. 


156 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


CHAPTER XV. 

HOTRE-DAME HE BELLAISE.* 

Tlierc came a man by middle day, 

He spied his sport and went away. 

And brought the king that veiy night, 

And brake my bower and slew my knight. 

The Border Widow" s Lanient. 

That same- Latin hymn which Cecily St. John daily 
chanted in her own chamber was due from the choir of 
Cistercian sisters in the chapel of the Convent of our Lady 
at Bellaise, in the Bocage of Anjou; but there was a con- 
venient practice of lumping together the entire night and 
forenoon hours at nine o^clock in the morning, and all the 
evening ones at Compline, so that the sisters might have 
undisturbed sleep at night and entertainment by day. Bell- 
aise was a very comfortable httle nunnery, which only re- 
ceived richly dowered inmates, and was therefore able to 
maintain them in much ease, though without giving occa- 
sion to a breath of scandal. Founded by a daughter of the 
first Angevin Ribaumont, it had become a sort of appanage 
for the superfluous daughters of the house, and nothing 
would more have amazed its present head, Eustacie Barbe 
de Ribaumont — convent ually known as La Mere Marie 
Seraphine de St. Louis, and to the world as Mme. de Bell- 
aise — than to be accused of not fulfilling the intentions of 
the Bienheureuse Barbe, the foundress, or of her patron 
St Bernard. 

Mme. de Bellaise was a fine-looking woman of forty, in a 
high state of preservation owing to the healthy life she had 
led. Her eyes were of brilliant, beautiful black, her com- 
plexion had a glow, her hair — for she wore it visibly — 
formed crisp rolls of jetty ringlets on her temples, almost 
liiding her close white cap. The heavy thick veil was 
tucked back beneath the furred purjfie silk hood that fast- 
ened under her chin. The wLite robes of her order were 

* Bellaise is not meant for a type of all nunneries, but of the con- 
dition to which many of the lesser ones had coine before the general 
reaction and purification of the seventeenth century. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


157 


not of serge, but of the finest cloth, and were almost hidden 
by a short purple cloak with sleeves, likewise lined and 
edged with fur, and fastened on the bosom with a gold 
brooch. Her fingers, bearing more rings than the signet of 
her house, were concealed in embroidered gauntlets of 
Spanish leather. One of them held an ivory-handled rid- 
ing-rod, the other the reins of the well-fed jennet, on whicli 
the lady, on a fine afternoon late in the carnival, was can- 
tering home through the lanes of the Bocage, after a suc- 
cessful morning^s hawking among the wheat ears. She 
>vas attended by a pair of sisters, arrayed somewhat in the 
same style, and by a pair of mounted grooms, the falconer 
with his charge having gone home by a footway. 

The sound of horses^ feet approaching made her look to- 
ward a long lane that came down at right angles to that 
along which she was riding, and slacken her pace before 
coming to its opening. And as she arrived at the intersec- 
tion, she beheld advancing, mounted on a little rough pony, 
the spare figure of her brother the chevalier, in his home 
suit, so greasy and frayed, that only his plumed hat (and a 
rusty plume it was) and the old sword at his side showed 
his high degree. 

He waved his hand to her as a sign to halt, and rode 
quickly up, scarcely giving time for a greeting ere he said, 
“ Sister, the little one is not out with you. ” 

‘‘ No, truly, the little mad thing, she is stricter and more 
headstrong than ever was her preceptress. Poor Monique! 
I had hoped that we should be at rest when that casse-tete 
had carried off her scruples to Ste. Claire, at Lucon, but 
here is this little droll far beyond her, without being even 
anunT^ 

“ Assuredly not. The business must be concluded at 
once. She must be married before Lent.-"^ 

‘‘ That will scarce be— in her present frame. 

“It must be. Listen, sister. Here is this miserable 
alive 

“ Her spouse!" 

“ Polly about her spouse! The decree from Rome has 
annulled the foolish mummery of her infancy. It came a 
week after the Protestant conspiracy, and was registered 
when the Norman peasants at Chateau Leurre showed con- 
tumacy. It was well; for, behold, our gallant is among 
his English friends, recovering, and even writing a billet» 


158 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


Anon he will be upon our hands in person. By the best 
fortune, Gillot fell in with his messenger this morning, 
prowling about on his way to the convent, and brought 
him to me to be examined. I laid him fast in ward, and 
sent Gillot off to ride day and night to bring my son down 
to secure the girl at once/^ 

‘‘ You will never obtain her consent. She is distractedly 
in love with his memory! Let her guess at his life, and — 

“ Precisely. Therefore must we be speedy. All Paris 
knows it by this time, for the fellow went straight to the 
English embassador; and I trust my son has been wise 
enough to set off already; for should we wait till after Lent, 
Monsieur le Baron himself might be upon us. ^ 

“ Poor child! You men little heed how you make a 
woman suffer. 

How, reverend mother! you pleading for a heretic mar- 
riage, that would give our rights to a Huguenot — what say 
I? — an English renegade !^^ 

I plead not, bro'ther. The injustice toward you must 
be repaired; but I have a certain love for my niece, and I 
fear she will be heart-broken when she learns the truth, 
the poor child. 

Bah! The abbess should rejoice in thus saving her 
soul ! How if her heretic treated Bellaise like the convents 
of England?^^ 

‘‘No threats, brother. As a daughter of Ribaumoht 
and a mother of the Church will I stand by you,^^ said the 
abbess with dignity. 

■“ And now tell me how it has been.with the child. I 
have not seen her since we agreed that the request did but 
aggravate her. You said her health was better since her 
nurse had been so often with her, and that she had ceased 
from her austerities.^^ 

“Not entirely; for when first she came, in her transports 
of despair and grief on finding Soeur Monique removed, 
she extorted from Father Bonatni a sort of hope that she 
might yet save her husband^s, I mean the baron^s, soul. 
Then, truly, it was a frenzy of fasts and prayers. Father 
Bonami has made his profit, and so have the fathers of 
Chollet — all her money has gone in masses, and in alms to 
purchase the prayers of the poor, and she herself fasting on 
bread and water, Itneeling barefooted in the chapel till she 
was transfixed with cold. No chaufferette, not she! Ob- 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


159 


stinate to the last degree! Tell her she would die — it was 
the best news one could bring; all her desire, to be in a 
more rigid house with Sceur Monique at Lucon. At length. 
Mere Perrine and Veronique found her actually fainting 
and powerless with cold on the chapel-flooi*; and since that 
time she has been more reasonable. There are prayers as 
much as ever; but the fancy to kill herself with fasting has 
passed. She begins to recover her looks, nay, sometimes I 
have thought she had an air of hope in her eyes and lips; 
but what know I? I have much to occupy me, and she 
persists in shutting herself up with her woman. 

“You have not allowed her any communication from 
without?"^ 

‘ ‘ Mere Perrine has come and gone freely; but she is 
nothing. No, the cliild could have no correspondence. She 
did, indeed, write a letter to the queen, as you know, 
brother, six weeks ago; but that has never been answered, 
nor could any letters have harmed you, since it is only now 
that this young man is known to be living. 

“ You are right, sister. No harm can have been done. 
All will go well. The child must be wearied with her 
frenzy of grief and devotion ! She will catch gladly at an 
excuse for change. A scene or two, and she will readily 
yield 

“It is true,'’^ said the abbess, thoughtfully, “ that she 
has walked and ridden out lately. She has asked ques- 
tions about her chateau, and their garritsons. I have heard 
nothing of the stricter convent for many weeks; but still, 
brother, you must go warily to work.-’^ 

“ And you, sister, must show no relenting. Let her 
not fancy she can work upon you. 

By this time the brother and sister were at the gate-way 
of the convent; a lay sister presided there, but there was 
no cloture, as the strict seclusion of a nunnery was called, 
and the chevalier rode into the cloistered quadrangle as 
naturally as if he had been entering a secular chateau, dis- 
mounted at the porch of the hall, and followed Mme. de 
Bellaise to the parlor, while she dispatched a request that 
her niece would attend her there. 

The parlor had no grating to divide it, but was merely 
a large room furnished with tapestry, carved chests, chairs, 
and cushions, much like other reception-rooms. A large, 
cheerful wood-fire blazed upon the hearfh, and there was a 


160 THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 

certain air of preparation, as indeed an ecclesiastical dignita- 
ry from Sauniur was expected to sup with the ladies that 
evening. 

After some interval, spent by the chevalier in warming 
himself, a low voice at the door was heard, saying, Dominus 
voUscum.’’ The abbess answered, ‘‘ Et cum spiritu tuo 
and on this monastic substitute for a knock and ‘ ‘ come 
in,^^ there appeared a figure draped and veiled from head 
to foot in heavy black, so as to look almost like a sable 
moving cone. She made an obeisance as she entered, say- 
ing, “ You commanded my presence, madame?^^ 

“ Your uncle would speak to you, daughter, on atfairs of 
moment. 

“ At his service. I, too, would sj)eak to him. ” 

“ First, then, my dear friend, said the chevalier, ‘‘ let 
me see you. That face must not be muffled any longer 
from those who love you.^^ 

She made no movement of obedience, until her aunt per- 
emptorily bade her turn back her veil. She did so, and 
disclosed the little face, so well known to her uncle, but 
less childish in its form, and the dark eyes less sparkling, 
though at once softer and more resolute. 

“Ah! my fair niece, said the chevalier, “this is no 
visage to be hidden! I am glad to see it re-embellished, 
and it will be lovelier than ever when you have cast off this 
disguise.'’^ 

“ That will never be,^^ said Eustacie. 

“ Ah! we know better! My daughter is sending down a 
counterpart of her own weddmg-dress for our pride of the 
Mardi Gras.^’ 

“ And who may that bride be?^^ said Eustacie, en- 
deavoring to speak as though it were nothing to her. 

“ Nay, ma 'petite I it is too long to play the ignorant 
when the bridegroom is on his way from Paris. 

“Madame,’^ said Eustacie, turning to her aunt, “you 
can not suffer this scandal. The meanest peasant may 
weep her first year of widowhood in peace. 

“ Listen, child. There are weighty reasons. The Duke 
of Anjou is a candidate for the throne of Poland, and my 
son is to accompany him thither. He must go as Marquis 
de Nid-de-Merle, in full jiossession of your estates. 

“Let him take them, began Eustacie, but broke off 
half-way through, with a muttered “ Oh-— no. 


THE CHAPLET OP PEARLS. 


161 


“That is childish, as I see you perceive, said her 
uncle; inconsistent with his honor. 

“ Does he S2)eak of honor, said Eustacie, “who first 
commits a cowardly murder, and then forces himself on 
the widow he has made?’^ 

“Folly, child, f oily, said the chevalier, who supposed 
her ignorant of the circumstances of her husband ^s assas- 
sination; and the abbess, who was really ignorant, ex- 
claimed — “ Fi done, niece; you know not what you say.'’’ 

“ T know, madame — I know from an eye-witness,” said 
Eustacie, firmly. “ I know the brutal words that imbit- 
tered my husband’s death; and were there no other cause, 
they would render wedlock with him who spoke them sac- 
rilege.” Resolutely and steadily did the young wife speak, 
looking at them with the dry fixed eyes to which tears had 
been denied ever since that eventf ul night. 

“ Poor child,” said the chevaher to his sister. “ She is 
under the delusion still. Husband ! There is none in the 
case.” Then waving his hand as Eustacie’ s face grew' crim- 
son, and her eyes flashed indignation, while her lips parted: 
“It was her own folly that rendered it iieedful to put an 
end to the boy’s presumption. Had she been less willful 
and more obedient, instead of turning the poor lad’s head 
by playing at madame, we could have let him return to his 
island fogs; but when she encouraged him in contemplat- 
ing the canying her away, and alienating her and her lands 
from the true faith, there was but one remedy^ — to let him 
perish with the rest. My son is willing to forgive her child- 
ish pleasure in a boy’s passing homage, and has obtained 
the king’s sanction to an immediate marriage. ” 

“Which, to spare you, my dear,” added the aunt, 
“ shall take place in our chapel. ” 

“It shall never take place anywhere,” said Eustacie, 
quietly, though with a quiver in her voice; “ no priest will 
wed me when he has heard me.” 

“ The dispensation will overcome all scruples,” said the 
abbess. “ Hear me, niece. I am sorry for you, but it is 
best that you should know at once that there is Jiofcliing in 
heaven or earth to aid yon in resisting your duty. ” 

Eustacie made no answer, but there was a strange half- 
smile on her lip, and a light in her eye which gave her an 
air not so much of entreaty as of defiance. She glanced 
from one to the other as if considering, but then slightly 
6 


162 


THE CHAPLET OE PEARLS. 


shook her head. “ What does she mean?^^ asked the cheva- 
lier and the abbess one of ai^other, as, with a dignified gest- 
ure, she moved to leave the room. 

Follow her. Convince that she has no hope,^^ said the 
uncle; and the abbess, moving faster than her wont, came 
up with her at the archway whence one corridor led to the 
chapel, another to her own apartments. Her veil was down 
again, but her aunt roughly withdrew it, saying, “ Look at 
me, Eustacie. I come to warn you that you need not look 
to tamper with the sisters. Not one will aid you in your 
headstrong folly. If you cast not off ere supper-time this 
mockery of mourning, you shall taste of that disciioline 
you used to sigh for. We have borne with your fancy long 
enough — you, who are no more a widow than I — nor wife. ” 

“ Wife and widow am I in the sight of Him who will 
protect me,^^ said Eustacie, standing her ground. 

‘‘ Insolent! Why, did I not excuse this as a childish de- 
lusion, should I not spurn one who durst love — what say I 
— not a heretic merely, but the foe of her father’s house?” 

“ He!” cried Eustacie; “ what had he ever done?” 

“ He inherited the blood of the traitor baron,” returned 
her aunt. “ Ever have that recreant line injured us! My 
nephew’s sword avenged the wrongs of many generations.” 

‘‘ Then,” said Eustacie, looking at her with a steady, 
fixed look of inquiry, “ you, Madame I’Abbesse, would 
have neither mercy nor pity for the most innocent offspring 
of the elder line?” 

“ Girl, what folly is this to talk to me of innocence. 
That is not the question. The question is — obey willingly 
as my dear daughter, or compulsion must be used?” 

“ My question is answered,” said Eustacie, on her side. 
“ I see that there is neither pity nor hope from you.” 

And with another obeisance, she turned to ascend the 
stairs. Madame paced back to her brother. 

“ What,” he said; ‘‘ you have not yet dealt with her?” 

“ No, brother, I never saw a like mood. She seems 
neither to fear nor to struggle. I knew she was too true a 
Ribaumont for weak tears and entreaties; but, fier}^ little 
being as once she was, I looked to see her force spend itself 
in passion, and that then the victory would have been 
easy; but no, she ever looks as if she had some inward re- 
source — some security — and therefore could be calm. I 
should deem it some Huguenot fanaticism, but she is a very 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


1G3 


saint as to the prayers of the Churchy, the very torment of 
our lives/’ 

“ Could she escape?” exclaimed the chevalier, who had 
been considering while his sister was speaking. 

“ Impossible! Besides, where could she go? But the 
gates shall be closed. I will warn the portress to let none 
pass out without my permission. ” 

The chevalier took a turn up and down the room; then 
exclaimed, It was very ill-advised to let her women have 
access to her! Let us have Veronique summoned instantly.” 

At that moment, however, the ponderous carriage of 
monseigneur, with out-riders, both lay and clerical, came 
trampling up to the archway and the abbess hurried off to 
her own apartment to divest herself of her hunting-gear 
ere she received her guest; and the orders to one of the 
nuns to keep a watch on her niece were oddly mixed with 
those to the cook, confectioner, and butterer. 

La Mere Marie Seraphine was not a cruel or an unkind 
woman. She had been very fond of lier pretty little niece 
in her childhood, but had deeply resented the arrangement 
which had removed her from her own superintendence to 
that of the Englishwoman, besides the uniting to the young 
baron one whom she deemed the absolute right of Narcisse. 
She had received Eustacie on her first return with great 
joy, and had always treated her with much indulgence, and 
when the drooping, broken-hearted girl came back once 
more to the shelter of her convent, the good-humored ab- 
bess only wished to make her happy again. 

But Eustacie ’s misery was far beyond the ken of her 
aunt, and the jovial turn of these consolations did but 
deepen her agony. To be congratulated on her release from 
the heretic, assured of future happiness with her cousin, 
and, above all, to hear Berenger abused with all the bitter- 
ness of rival family and rival religion, tore up the lacerated 
spirit. Ill, dejected, and broken down, too subdued to fire 
up in defense, and only longing for the power of indulging 
in silent grief, Eustacie had shrunk from her, and wrapped 
herself up in the ceaseless round of masses and prayers, in 
which she was allowed to perceive a glimmering of hope for 
her husband’s soul. The abbess, ever busy with affairs of 
her convent or matters of ideasure, soon relinquished the 
vain attempt to console where she could not synijoathize, 
trusted that the fever of devotion would wear itself out. 


164 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


and left her niece to herself. Of the seven nuns, two were 
decorously gay, like their mother abbess; one was a pro- 
digious worker of tapestry, two were unrivaled save by one 
another as confectioners. Eustacie had been their pet in 
her younger days; now she was out of their reach, they 
tried in turn to comfort her; and when she would not be 
comforted, they, too, felt aggrieved by the presence of one 
whose austerity reproached their own laxity; they resented 
her disappointment at Soeur Monique^s having been trans- 
ferred to Lucon, and they, too, left her to the only persons 
whose presence she had ever seemed to relish — namely, her 
maid Veronique, and Veronique^s mother, her old nurse 
Perrine, wife of a farmer about two miles off. The woman 
had been Eustacie ^s foster mother, and continued to exert 
over her much of the caressing care of a nurse. 

After parting with her aunt, Eustacie for a moment 
looked toward the chapel, then, clasping her hands, mur- 
mured to herself, “No! no! speed is my best hope;^^ and 
at once mounted the stairs, and entered a room, where the 
large stone crucifix, a waxen madonna, and the holy water 
font gave a cell-like aspect to the room; and a straw pallet 
covered with sackcloth was on the fioor, a richly curtained 
couch driven into the, rear, as unused. 

She knelt for a moment before the madonna, “ Ave 
Maria, be with me and mine. 0 ! blessed lady, thou hadst 
to fiy with thy Holy One from cruel men. Have thou jfity 
on the fatherless!^'’ 

Then going to the door, she clapped her hands; and as 
Veronique entered, she bade her shut and bolt the door, 
and at the same moment began in nervous haste to throw 
off her veil and unfasten her dress. 

“ Make haste, Veronique. A dress of thine — 

“ Air is known, then cried Veronique, throwing un 
her arms. 

“ No, but he is coming — Narcisse — to marry me at once 
— Mardi Gras — 

“ Et quoi? Madame has but to speak the word, and it 
is impossible. ” 

“ And after what my aunt has said, I would die a thou- 
sand deaths ere speaking that word. I asked her, Vero- 
nique! She would have vengeance on the most guiltless — 
the most guiltless — do you hear? of the Norman house. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


165 


Never, never shall she have the chance! Come, thv striped 
petticoat!’’ 

‘‘ But, oh! what will madame do? Where would she go? 
Oh! it is impossible. ” 

‘‘ First to thy father’s. Yes, I know. He has once 
called it a madness to think of rallying my vassals to pro- 
tect their lady. That was when he heard of it from thee — 
thou faint of heart — and thy mother. I shall speak to him 
in person now. Make haste, I tell thee, girl. I must be 
out of this place before I am watched or guarded,” she ad- 
ded breathlessly. “ I feel as if each moment I lost might 
have death upon it;” and she looked about her like a 
startled deer. 

‘ ‘ To my father’s. Ah ! there it is not so ill ! But the twi- 
light, the length of way,” sobbed Veronique, in grievous 
distress and perplexity. ‘‘Oh! madame, I can not see you 
go. The mother abbess is good. She must have pity. Oh, 
trust to her!” 

“ Trust! Did I not trust to my cousin Diane? Never! 
Nothing will kill me but remaining in their hands. ” 

Veronique argued and implored in vain. Ever since, in 
the height of those vehement austerities by which the be- 
reaved and shattered sufferer strove to appease her wretched- 
ness by the utmost endeavor to save her husband’s soul, 
the old foster-mother had ma<le known to her that she 
might thus sacrifice another than herself, Eustacie’s elastic 
heart had begun to revive, with all its dauntless strength 
of will. What to her women seemed only a fear, was to 
her only a hope. 

Frank and confiding as was her nature, however, the 
cruel deceptions already practiced on her by her own kin- 
dred, together with the harsh words with which the abbess 
spoke of Berenger, had made her aware that no comfort 
must be looked for in that quarter. It was, after all, per- 
haps her own instinct, and the aunt’s want of sympathy, 
that withheld her from seeking counsel of any save Perrine 
and her daughter, at any rate till she could communicate 
with the kind young queen. To her, then, Eustacie had 
written, entreating that a royal mandate would recall her 
in time to bestow herself m some trustworthy hands, jr 
even in, her husband’s own Norman castle, where his heir 
would be both safe and welcome. But time had passed — 


166 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


the whole space that she had reckoned as needful for the 
going and coming of her messenger — allowing for all the 
obstructions of winter roads — nay, he had come back; she 
knew her letter was delivered, but answer there was none. 
It might yet come — perhaps a royal carriage and escort— 
and daj after day had she waited and hoped, only tardily 
admitting the conviction that Elizabeth of Austria was as 
powerless as Eustacie de Ribaumont, and meantime re- 
volving and proposing many a scheme that could only have 
entered the brain of a brave-spirited child as she was. To 
appeal to her vassals, garrison with them a ruinous old 
tower in the woods, and thence send far aid to the Mont- 
morencys; to ride to Saumur, and claim the protection of 
the governor of the province; to make her way to the coast 
and sail for England; to start for Paris, and throw herself 
in person on the queen ^s protection — all had occurred to 
her, and been discussed with her two confidantes ; but the 
hope of the queen^s interference, together with the exceed- 
ing difficulty of acting, had hitherto prevented her from 
taking any steps, since no suspicion had arisen m the 
minds of those about her. Veronique, caring infinitely 
more for her mistresses health and well-being than for the 
object of Eustaciees anxieties, had always secretly trusted 
that delay would last till action was impossible, and that 
the discovery would be made, only without her being accused 
of treason. In the present stress of danger, she could but 
lament and entreat, for Eustacie '’s resolution bore her 
down; and besides, as she said to herself, her lady was after 
all going to her fosterrfather and mother, who would make 
her hear reason, and bring her back at once, and then there 
Avould be no anger nor disgrace incurred. The dark muddy 
length of walk would be the worst of it — and, bah! most 
likely madame would be convinced by it, and return of her 
own accord. 

So Veronique, though not intermitting her protests, ad- 
justed her own dress upon her mistress — short striped petti- 
coat, black bodice, winged turban-like white cap, and a 
great muffling gray cloth cloak and hood over the head and 
shoulders — the costume in which Veronique w\as wont to 
run to her home in the twilight on various errands, chiefly 
to carry her mistress’s linen; for, starching Eustacie ’s 
plain bands and cuffs, was Mere Perrine’s special ])ride. 
Tlie wonted bundle, therefore, now contained a few gar- 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 107 

ments, and the money and jewels^ especially the chaplet of 
pearls, which Eustacie regarded as a trust. 

Sobbing, and still protesting, Veronique, however, en- 
gaged that if her lady succeeded in safely crossing the 
kitchen in the twilight, and in leaving the convent, she 
would keep the secret of her escape as long as possible, re- 
porting her refusal to appear at supper, and making such 
excuses as might very probably prevent the discovery of 
her flight till next day. 

‘‘ And then,” said Eustacie, “ I will send for thee, either 
to Saumur, or to the old tower! Adieu, dear Veronique, 
do not be frightened. Thou dost not know how glad I am 
that the time for doing something is come! To-morrow!'’^ 

“To-morrow!” thought Veronique, as she shut the 
door; “before that you will be back here again, my poor 
little lady, trembling, weeping, in- dire need of being com- 
forted. But I will make up a good fire, and shake out the 
bed. 1^11 let her have no more of that villainous palliasse. 
No, no, let her try her own way, and repent of it; then, 
when this matter is over, she will turn her mind to Cheva- 
lier Narcisse, and there will be no more languishing in this 
miserable hole. ” 


CHAPTER XVL 

THE HEARTHS AHD THICKETS OF THE BOCAGE. 

I wiuna spare for his tender age, 

Nor yet for his hie kin; 

But soon as ever he born is, 

He shall mount the gallows’ pin, 

Fause Foodrage. 

I)USK was closing in, but lamps had not yet been lighted, 
when with a trembling, yet almost a bounding heart, Eus- 
tacie stole down the stone staircase, leading to a back-door 
—an utterly uncanonical appendage to a nunnery, but one 
much used among the domestic establishment of Bellaise. 

A gleam of red light spread across the passage from the 
half-open kitchen door, whence issued the savory steam of 
the supper preparing for monseigneur. Eustacie had just 
cautiously traversed it, when the voice of the presiding lay- 
sister called out, “ Veronique, is that you?” 

“ Sister!” returned Eustacie, with as much of the An- 
gevin twang as she could assume, ^ 


168 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


. “ Where are you going?^^ 

‘‘ To the Orchard Farm with this linen. 

“ Ah! it must be. But there are strict orders come from 
inadame about nobody going out unrei^orted, and you may 
chance to find the door locked if you do not come back in 
good time. Oh! and I had well-nigh forgot; tell your 
mother to be here early to-morrow, madame would speak 
with her.^^ 

Eustacie assented, half stifled by the great throb of her 
fluttering heart at the sense that she had indeed seized the 
last moment. Forth then she stepped. How dark, waste, 
and lonely the open field looked! But her heart did not 
fail her; she could only feel that a captivity was over and 
the most vague and terrible of her anxieties soothed, as she 
made her way into one of the long shady lanes of the Bo- 
cage. It was nearly dark, and very muddy, but she had all 
the familiarity of a native with the way, and the farm, 
where she had trotted about in her infancy like a peasant's 
child, always seemed like home to her. It had been a 
prime treat to visit it during her time of education at the 
convent, and there was an association of pleasure in treading 
the path that seemed to bear her up, and give her enjoy- 
ment in the mere adventure and feeling of escape and lil3- 
erty. She had no fear of the dark, nor of the distant bark- 
ing of dogs, but the mire was deep, and it was plodding 
work in those heavy sahotSy up the lane that led from the 
convent; and the poor child was sorely weary long before 
she came to the top of the low hill that she used scarcely to 
know to be rising ground at all. The stars had come out; 
and as she sat for a few moments to rest on a large stone, 
she saw the lights of the cottage fires in the village below, 
and looking round could also see the many gleams in the 
convent windows, the red firelight m her own room among 
them. She shivered a little as she thought of its glowing 
comfort, but turned her back resolutely, tightened her 
cloak over her head, looked up to a glimmer in the watch- 
tower of her own castle far above her on the hill and closed 
against her; and then smiled to herself with hope at the 
sparkle of a window in a lonely farm-house among the fields. 

With fresh vigor she rose, and found her way through 
lane and field-path to the paddock where she had so often 
played. Here a couple of huge dogs dashed forward with 
an explosion of barks, dying away into low growls as she 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


169 


spoke to them by their names, and called aloud on “ Blaise 
and “ Mere Perrine!^^ The cottage door was opened, the 
light streamed forth, and a man^s head in a broad hat ap- 
peared. “ Veronique, girl, is this an hour to be gadding 
abroad 

Blaise, do you not know me?^"" 

It is our lady. Ah!^^ 

The next moment the wanderer was seated in the ample 
wooden 'chair of the head of the family, the farmer and his 
two stout sons standing before her as their liege lady, and 
Mere Perrine hanging over her, in great anxiety, not wholly 
dispelled by her low girlish laugh, partly of exultation at 
her successful evasion, partly of amusement at their won- 
der, and partly, too, because it was so natural to her to en- 
joy herself at that hearth that she could not help it. A 
savory mess from the great caldron that was forever stew- 
ing over the fire was at once fished out for her, before she 
was allowed to explain herself; and as she eat with the 
carved spoon and from the earthenware crock that had 
been called mademoiselle's ever since her baby-days, Per- 
rine chafed and warmed her feet, fondled her, and assured 
her, as if she were still their spoiled child, that they would 
do all she wished. 

Pierre and Tiennot, the two sons, were sent out to fodder 
the cattle, and kee^i careful watch for any sounds of pur- 
suers from the convent; and Blaise, in the plenitude of his 
respect and deference, would have followed them, but 
Eustacie desired him to remain to give her counsel. 

Her first inquiry was after the watch-tower. She did 
not care for any discomfort if her vassals would be faith- 
ful, and hold it out for her, till she could send for help to 
the allies of her husband's house, and her eyes ghstened as 
she spoke. 

But Blaise shook his head. He had looked at the tower 
as madame bade, but it was all in ruins, crumbling away, 
and, moreover, M. le Chevalier had put a forester there-^ 
a grim, bad subject, who had been in the Itahan wars, and 
cared, neither for saint nor devil, except Chevalier Narcisse. 
Indeed, even if he had not been there, the place was un- 
tenable, it would only be getting into a trap. 

“ Count Hebert held it out for twelve days against the 
English!" said Eustacie, proudly. 

‘°Ah! ah! but there were none of your falconets, or 


170 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


what call you those cannons then. No; if madaine would 
present herself as a choice morsel for Monsieur le Chevalier 
to snap up, that is the place. 

Then came the other plan of getting an escort of the 
peasants together, and riding with them toward the 
Huguenot teri’itories around La Kochelle, wherc, for her 
husband^s sake, Eustacie could hardly fail to obtain friends. 
It was the more practical exjjedient, but Blaise groaned 
over it, wondered how many of the farmers could be trusted, 
or brought together, and finally expressed his intention of 
going to consult Martin, his stanch friend, at the next 
farm. Meantime, madame had better lie down and sleep. 
And madame did sleej^, in Perrine^s huge box-bedstead, 
with a sweet, calm, childlike slumber, whilst her nurse sat 
watching her with eyes full of tears of pity and distress; the 
poor young thing’s buoyant hopefulness and absence of all 
fear seemed to the old woman especially sad, and like a 
sort of want of comprehension of the full peril in which she 
stood. 

Not till near dawn was Eustacie startled from her rest 
by approaching steps. “ Nurse, is all ready?” she cried. 
‘^Can we set off? Are the horses there?” 

“ No, my child; it is but my good man and Martin who 
would speak with you. Ho not hasten. There is nothing 
amiss as yet.” 

“ Oh, nurse,” cried Eustacie, as she quickly arranged 
the dress in which she had lain down, “ the dear old farm 
always makes me sleep well. This is the first time I have 
had no dream of the wliirling wheel and fiery gates! Oh, 
is it a token that he is indeed at rest? I am so well, so 
strong. I can ride anywhere now. Let them come in and 
tell me.” 

Martin was a younger, brisker, cleverer man than Blaise, 
and besides, being a vassal of the young lady, was a sort of 
agent to whom the abbess intrusted many of the matters of 
husbandry regarding the convent lands. He stood, like 
Blaise, bare-headed as he talked to the little lady, and heard 
her somewhat peremptorily demand why they had not 
brought the horses and men for her escort. 

It was impossible that night, explained Martin. Ihme 
was needed to bring in the farm-horses, and summon the 
other peasants, without whom the roads were unsafe in 
these times of disorder. He and Blaise must go round and 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


171 


warn them to be ready. A man could not be ready in a 
wink of the eye, as madame seemed to think, and the two 
peasants looked impenetrable in stolidity. 

Laggards that you are!^^ cried Eustacie petulantly, 
clasping her hands; “ and meantime all will he lost. They 
will be upon meT^ 

“Not so, madame. It is therefore that I came here,'' 
said Martin, deferentially, to the little fuming impatient 
creature; “ madame will be far safer close at hand while 
the pursuit and search are going on. But she must not 
stay here. This farm is the first place they will come to, 
while they will never suspect mine, and my good woman 
Lucette will be proud to keep watch for her. Madame 
knows that the place is full of shrubs and thickets, where 
one half of an army might spend a fine day in looking for 
the other." 

“ And at night you will get together the men and convoy 
me?" asked Eustacie, eagerly. 

“ All in good time, madame. Now she must be off, ere 
the holy mothers be astir. I have brought an ass for her 
to ride." 

Eustacie had no choice but compliance. None of the 
Orchard family could go with her, as it was needful that 
they should stay at home and appear as unconcerned as 
possible; but they promised to meet her at the hour and 
place to be appointed, and if possible to bring Veronique. 

Eating a piece of rye bread as she went, Eustacie, in her 
gray cloak, rode under Martin 's guardianship along the deep 
lanes, just budding with spring, in the chill dewiness before 
sunrise. She was silent, and just a little sullen, for she had 
found stout shrewd Martin less easy to talk over than the 
admiring Blaise, and her spirit was excessively chafed by 
the tardiness of her retainers. But the sun rose and cleared 
away all clouds of temper, the cocks crew, the sheep bleated, 
and fresh morning sounds met her ear, and seemed to cheer 
and fill her with hope; and in some compunction for her 
W'ant of graciousness, she thanked Martin, and praised his 
ass with a pretty cordiality that would have fully compen- 
sated for her displeasure, even if the honest man had been 
sensible of it. 

He halted under the lee of a barn, and gave a low whistle. 
At the sound, Lucette, a brown, sturdy 3^oung woman with 
a red handkerchief over her head, and another over her 


172 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


shoulders, came running round the corner of the barn, and 
whispered eagerly under her breath, “ Ah! madame, ma- 
dame, what an honor kissing Eustacie^s hand with all 
her might as she spoke; but, alas! I fear madame can 
not come into the house. The questing Brother Francois 
— plague upon him ! — has taken it into his head to drop in 
to breakfast. I longed to give liim the cold shoulder, but 
it might have brought suspicion down. 

“ Eight, good woman, said Martin; “ but what shall 
madame do? It is broad day, and no longer safe to run the 
lanes!^^ 

“ Give me a distalf,^^ said Eustacie, rising to the occa- 
sion, ‘‘ I will go to that bushy field, and herd the cows."'^ 

Madame was right, the husband and wife unwillingly 
agreed. There, in her peasant dress, in the remote field, 
sloping up into a thick wood, she was unlikely to attract 
attention; and though the field was bordered on one side by 
the lane leading to the road to Paris, it was separated from 
it by a steep bank, crowned by one of the thick hedge-rows 
characteristic of the Bocage. 

Here, then, they were forced to leave her, seated on a 
stone beneath a thorn-bush, distaff in hand, with bread, 
cheese and a pitcher of milk for her provisions, and three or 
four cows grazing before her. From the higher ground 
below the wood of ash and hazel, she could see the undulat- 
ing fields and orchards, a few houses, and that inhospitable 
castle of her own. 

She had spent many a drearier day in the convent than 
this, in the free sun and air, with the feeling of liberty, and 
unbounded hopes founded on this first success. She told 
her beads diligently, trusting that the tale of devotions for 
her husband’s spirit would be equally made up in the field 
as in the church, and intently all day were her ears and eyes 
on the alert. Once Lucette visited her, to bring her a basin 
of porridge, and to tell her that all the world at the convent 
was in Confusion, that messengers had been sent out in all 
directions, and that M. le Chevalier had ridden out himself 
in pursuit; but they should soon hear all about it, for Mar- 
tin was pretending to be amongst the busiest, and he would 
know how to turn them away. Again, much later in the 
day, Martin came striding across the field, and had just 
reached her, as she sat in the hedge-row, when- the great 
dog who followed him pricked his ears, and a tramping and 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 173 

jingling was audible in the distance in the lane. Eustacie 
held up her finger, her eyes dilating. 

“ It niust be Monsieur le Chevalier returning. Madame 
must wait a little longer. I must be at home, or they may 
send out to seek me here, and that would be ruin. I will 
return as soon as it is safe, if madame will hide herself in 
the hedge-row. 

Into the hedge-row accordingly crept Eustacie, cowering 
close to a holly-tree at the very summit of the bank, and 
led by a strange fascination to choose a spot where, unseen 
herself, she could gaze down on the party who came clank- 
ing along the hollow road beneath. Nearer, nearer they 
came; and she shuddered, with more of passion than of 
fear, as she beheld, not only her uncle in his best well-pre- 
served green suit, but Narcisse, muddy with riding, though 
in his court braveries. Suddenly they came to a halt close 
beneath her! Was she detected? Ah! just below was the 
spot where the road to the convent parted from the road 
to the farm; and, as Martin had apprehended, they were 
stopping for him. The chevalier ordered one of the armed 
men behind him to ride up to the farm and summon Martin 
to speak with him; and then he and his son, while waiting 
under the holly-bush, continued their conversation. 

‘‘So that is the state of things! A fine overthrow!'''’ 
quoth Narcisse. 

“ Bah! not at all. She will soon be in our hands again. 
I have spoken with, or written to, every governor of the 
cities she must pass through, and not one will abet the little 
runaway. At the first barrier she is ours.^^ 

“ Et 

“ Oh, we shall have her mild as a sheep. (Eustacie 
set her teeth.) “ Every one will be in the same story, that 
lier marriage was a nullity; she can not choose but believe, 
and can only be thankful that we overlook the escaj)ade 
and rehabilitate her. 

“ Thank you, my good uncle, almost uttered his unseen 
auditor. 

“Well! There is too much land down here to throw 
away; but the affair has become horribly complicated and 
distasteful."^ 

“ No such thing. All the easier. She can no longer 
play the spotless saint — ^get weak-minded priests on her side 
— be all for strict convents. No, no; her time for that is 


174 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


past! Shut her up with trustvrorthy persons from whom 
she will hear nothing from without, and she will understand 
her case. The child? It will scarce be born alive, or at 
any rate she need not know whether it is. Then, with no 
resource, no hope, what can she do but be too thankful for 
pardon, and as glad to conceal the past as we could wish?'’^ 

Eustacie clinched her fist. Had a pistol been within her 
reach, the speaker's tenure of life had been short! She 
was no chastened, self -restrained, forgiving saint, the poor 
little thing, only a hot-tempered, generous, keenly sensitive 
being, well-nigh a child in years and in impulses, though 
with the instincts of a mother awakening within her, and 
of a mother who heard the life of her unborn babe plotted 
against. She was absolutely forced to hold her lips to- 
gether, to repress the sobbing scream of fury that came to 
her throat; and the struggles with her gasping breath, the 
surging of the blood in her ears, hindered her from hearing 
or seeing anything for some seconds, though she kept her 
station. By the time her perceptions had cleared them- 
selves, Martin, cap in hand, was in the lane below, listen- 
ing deferentially to the two gentlemen, who were assuring 
him that inquiry had been made, and a guard carefully set 
at the barriers of all the cities round, and that it was im- 
possible that the fugitive could have passed those, or be able 
to do so. She must certainly be hidden somewhere near 
home, and Martin had better warn all his friends against 
hiding her, unless they wished to be hung up on the thresh- 
olds of their burning farmsteads. Martin bowed, and 
thought the fellows would know their own interest and 
mademoiselle's better. 

‘‘WelV^ said the chevalier, ‘‘we must begin without 
loss of time. My son has brought down a set of fellows 
here, who are trained to ferret out heretics. Not a runa- 
way weasel could escape them! We will set them on as 
soon as ever they have taken a bit of supper up there at ti e 
chateau; and do you come up with us just to show them 
the way across to Leonardos. That^s no unlikely place f oi- 
lier to Im-k in, as you said this morning, good fellow. 

It was the most remote farm from that of Martin, and 
Eustacie felt how great were liis services, even wliile she 
flushed with anger to hear him speaking of her as made- 
moiselle. He was promising to follow immediately to the 
castle, to meet ces Messieurs there almost as soon as they 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


175 


could arrive, but excusing himself from accompanying 
them, by the need of driving home the big bidl, whom no 
one else could manage. 

They consented, and rode on. Martin watched them out 
of sight, then sprung up by some stepping-stones in the 
bank, a little below where Eustacie sat, and came crackling 
through the boughs to where she was crouching down, with 
fierce glittering eyes and panting breath, like a wild animal 
ready to spring. 

“ Madame has heard, smd Martin under his breath. 

If I have heard! Oh that I were a man, to slay them 
where they stood! Martin, Martin! you will not betray 
me. Some day we will reward you.'’^ 

Madame need not have said that to me,^’ said Martin, 
rather hurt. “ I am only thinking what she can do. Alas! 
I fear that she must remain in this covert till it is dark, for 
these men^s eyes are all on the alert. At dark, I or Lucette 
will come and find a shelter for her for the night. 

Long, long, then, did Eustacie sit, muffled in her gray 
cloak, shrinking together to shelter herself from the sunset 
chill of early spring, but shuddering more with horror than 
'with cold, as the cruel cold-blooded words she had heard 
recurred to her, and feeling as if she were fast within a net, 
every outlet guarded against her, and search everywhere; 
yet still with the indomitable determination to dare and 
suffer to the utmost ere that which was dearer than her own 
life should come into peril from her enemies., 

The twilight closed in, the stars came out, sounds of life 
died away, and still she sat on, becoming almost torpid in 
the cold darkness, until at length she heard the low call of 
Lucette, ^ ^Madame ! Ah ! la pauvre Madame. ^ ' She started 
up, so stiff that she could hardly move, and only guided by 
the voice to feel her way through the hedge-row in the right 
direction. Another moment, and Lucette ^s warm arms had 
received her; and she was guided, scarce knowing how or 
where, in cautious silence to the farm-yard, and into the 
house, where a most welcome sight, a huge fire, blazed 
cheerfully on the hearth, and Martin himself held open 
the door for her. The other occupants of the kitchen were 
the sleeping child in its wooden cradle, some cocks and hens 
upon tlie rafters, and a big sheep-dog before the fire. 

The warmth, and the clncken that Lucette had killed and 
dressed, brought the color back to the exhausted wanderer^s 


176 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


cheek, and enabled her again to hold council for her 
safety. It was plain, as Martin had found in conversation 
with the; men-at-arms, that precautions had been taken 
against her escaping in any of the directions where she 
might hope to have reached friends. Alone she could not 
go, and any escort sufficient to protect her would assuredly 
be stopped at the first town; besides which, collecting it 
in secret was impossible under present circumstances, and 
it would be sure to be at once overtaken and demolished by 
the Chevalier Narcisse^s well-armed followers. Martin, 
therefore, saw no alternative but for her to lurk about in 
such hiding-places as her faithful vassals could afford her, 
until the search should blow over, and the vigilance of her 
uncle and cousin relax. Ho2:)e, the high-spirited hope of 
early youth, looked beyond to indefinite but infinite possi- 
bility. Anything was better than the shame and horror of 
yielding, and Eustacie trusted herself with all her heart for 
the present, fancying, she knew not what, the future. 

Indeed, the Vendean fidelity has often been tested, and 
she made full proof of it among the lanes, copses, and home- 
steads of her own broad lands. The whole coimtry was a 
net- work of deep lanes, sunk between impenetrable hedge- 
rows, inclosing small fields, orchards, and thickets, and 
gently undulating in low hills and shallow valleys, inter- 
spersed with tall wasp-waisted windmills airily waving their 
arms on the to]! of lofty masts. It was partitiojied into 
small farms,, inhabited by a simple-hearted peasantry, 
religious and diligent, with a fair amount of rural wealth 
and comfort. Their love for their lords was loyally warm, 
and Eustacie moiiopolized it, from their detestation of her 
uncle^s exactions; they would risk any of the savage punish- 
ments with which they were threatened for concealing her; 
and as one by one it was needful to take them into the 
secret, so as to disarm suspicion, and she was passed from 
one farm to another, each proved his faithful attachment, 
and thought himself repaid by her thankful smile and con- 
fiding manner. 

The chevalier and his son searched vigorously. On the 
slightest suspicion, they came down to the farm, closed up 
the outlets, threatened the owners, turned out the house, 
and the very place they had last searched would become 
her quarters on the next night! Messages always had 
warned her in time. Intelligence was obtained by Martin, 


THE (JHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


177 


who contrived to remain a confidential agent, and warnings 
were dispatched to her by many a strange messenger — by 
little children, by old women, or even by the village inno- 
cent. 

The most alarming days were those when she was not 
the avowed object of the chase, but when the pursuit of 
game rendered the coverts in the woods and fields unsafe, 
and the hounds might lead to her discoveiy. On one of 
these occasions Martin locked her up in^the great hay-loft of 
the convent, where she could actually hear the chants in the 
chapel, and distinguish the chatter of the lay-sisters in the 
yai-d. Another time, in conjunction with the sacristan, he 
bestowed her in the great seigneurial tribune (or squire’s 
pew) in the village church, a tall carved box, where she Was 
completely hidden ; and the only time wlien she had failed 
to obtain warning beforehand, she stood kneading bread at 
a tub in Martin’s cottage, while the hunt passed by, and a 
man-at-arms looked in and questioned the master on the 
last traces of the runaway. 

It was seldom possible to see Mere Perrine, who was care- 
fully watched, under the conviction that she must know 
where her nursling was; but one evening Veronique vent- 
ured up to Martin’s farm, trusting to tidings that the gen- 
tlemen had ridden to 8aumur. had been a wet day, but 
the woods had been Eustacie’s only secure harbor; and 
when, in a bright evening gleam of the setting sun from 
beneath the clouds, Veronique came in sight of her lady, 
the queen’s favorite, it was to see her leading by a string a 
little shaggy cow, with a bell round its neck, her gray cloak 
huddled round her, though dank with wet, a long lock of 
black hair streaming over her brow, her garments clinging 
with damp, her bare ankles scratched with thorns, her heavy 
sabots covered with mire, her cheeks pale with cold and 
wet. 

The contrast overwhelmed poor Veronique. She dropped 
on her knees, sobbing as if her heart would break, and de- 
claring that this was what the abbess had feared; her lady 
was fast killing herself. 

Hush, Veronique,” said Eustacie; that is all folly. I 
am wet and weary now, but oh! if you knew how much 
sweeter to me life is now than it was, shut up down there, 
with my fears. See,” and she held up a bunch of purple 
pasque-flowers and wood-sorrel, “ this is what I found in 


178 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


the wood, growing out of a rugged old dead root; and just 
by, sheltered by the threefold leaves of the alleluia-flower, 
was a bird’s nest, the mother-bird on her eggs, watching 
me with the wise black eye that saw I would not hurt her. 
And it brought back the words I had heard long ago, of 
the good God caring for the sparrows; and I knew He would 
care the more for me and mine, because I have not where 
to lay my head. ” • 

“ Alas!” sobbed Veronique, “ now she is getting to be a 
saint outright. She will be sure to die! Ah, madame — 
dear madame! do but listen to me. If you did but know 
how Madame de Bellaise is afflicting herself on your ac- 
count! She sent for me — ah! do not be angry, dear lady!” 

“ I wish to hear nothing about her,” said Eustacie. 

“Nay, listen, de grdce — one moment, madame! She has 
wept, she has feared you, all the lay-sisters say so. She 
takes no pleasure in hawking, nor in visiting; and she did 
not eat more than six of Soeur Bernardino’s best conserves. 
She does nothing but watch for tidings of madame. And 
she sent for me, as I told you, and conjured me, if I knew 
where you were or had any means of flnding out, to implore 
you to trust to her. She will swear on all the relics in the 
chapel never to give a hint to Messieurs les Chevaliers if 
only you would trust her, and not slay yourself with all 
this dreadful wandering. ” 

“ Never!” said Eustacie; “ she said too much!” 

“ Ah! but she declares that, had she known the truth, 
she never would have said that. Ah, yes, madame, the 
abbess is good!” And Veronique, holding her mistress’s 
cloak to secure a hearing, detailed the abbess’s plan for 
lodging her niece in secret apartments within the thickness 
of the convent walls, where Mere Perrine could be with 
her, and every sacred pledge should be given that could re- 
move her fears. 

“ And could they make me believe them, so that the 
doubt and dread would not kill me in themselves?” said 
Eustacie. 

“ But it is death — certam death, as it is. Oh, if madame 
would hear reason! — but she is headstrong! She will grieve 
when it is too late!” 

“ Listen, Veronique. I have a far better plan. The 
sacristan has a sister who weaves red handkerchiefs at 
Chollet. She will receive me, and keep me as long as there 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


179 


is need. Martin is to take me in his cart when he carries 
tlie hay to the garrison. I shall be well hidden, and within 
reach of your mother. And then, when my son is once 
come — then all will be well! The peasants will rise in be- 
half of their young lord, though not for a poor helpless 
woman. No one will dare to dispute his claim, when I 
have appealed to the king; and then, Veronique, you shall 
come back to me, and all will he well!” 

Veronique only began to wail aloud at her mistresses ob- 
stinacy. Martin came up, and rudely silenced her, ami 
said afterward to his wife, “ Have a care! That girl has~ 
I verily believe — betrayed her lady once; and if she do not 
do so again, from pure pity and faintness of heart, I shall 
be much surprised, 


CHAPTER XYII. 

THE GHOSTS OF THE TEMPLARS. 

’Tis said, as through the aisles they passed, 

They heard strange voices on the blast, 

And through the cloister galleries small, 

Which at mid-height thread the chancel wall, 

Loud sobs and laughter louder ran. 

And voices unlike the voice of man, 

As if the fiends kept holiday. 

Scott, iMy of the Last Minstrel. 

III news, Martin, I see by your look!^^ cried Eu- 
stacie, starting to her feet from the heaj) of straw on which 
she was sitting in his cow-house, one early April day, about 
seven weeks since her evasion from the convent. 

Not so, I hope, madame, hut I do not feel at ease. 
Monsieur has not sent for me, nor told me his plans for 
the morrow, and I much doubt me whether that bode not a 
search here. Now I see a plan, provided madame would 
trust herself to a Huguenot."’^ 

“ They would guard me for my Husband ^s sake.^^ 

And could madame walk half a league, as far as the 
Grange du Temple? There live Matthieu Rotrou and his 
wife, who have, they say, baffled a hundred times the gen- 
darmes who sought their ministers. No one ever found 
a pastor, the}' say, when Rotrou had been of the congrega- 
tion; and if they can do so much for an old preacher with a 
long tongue, surely they can for a sweet young lady; and if 


180 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


tliey could shelter her just for to-morrow, till the suspicion 
is over, then would I come for madame with my cart, and 
carry her into Chollet among the trusses of hay, as we had 
fixed. 

Eustacie was already tying her cloak, and aslcing for 
Lucette; but she was grieved to hear that Martin had sent 
her to vespers to disarm suspicion, and moreover that he 
meant not to tell her of his new device. The creature is 
honest enough, he said, ‘‘but the way to be safe with 
women is not to let them know. 

He cut short all messages and expressions of gratitude, 
and leading Eustacie^to a small stream, he made her creep 
along its course, witli her feet in the water so as to be shel- 
tered by the boughs that hung over the banks, while he used 
his long strides to enable him to double back and enter into 
conversation with passers-by, quite off the track of the 
Grange du Temple, but always telling her where he should 
join her again, and leaving with her the great dog, whom 
she had come to regard as a friend and protector. Leavmg 
the brook, he conducted her beneath hedges and by lonely 
woodland paths beyond the confines of her own property, 
to a secluded valley, so shut in by wooded hills that she had 
not been aware of its existence. Through an extensive 
orchard, she at length, when nearly spent with the walk, 
beheld the cluster of stone buildings, substantial as the 
erections of religious orders are wont to be. 

Martin found a seat for her, where she might wait wliile 
he went on alone to the house, and presently returned with 
both the good people of the farm. They were more off-hand 
and less deferential than were her own people, but were 
full of kindliness. They were middle-aged folk, most neatly 
clad, and with a grave, thoughtful look about them, as if 
life were a much heavier charge to them than to their light- 
hearted neighbors. 

“ A fair day to you, madame,^'’ said the farmer, doffing 
his wide-flapped hat. “ I am glad to serve a sufferer for 
the truth '’s sake. 

“ My husband was,’^ faltered Eustacie. 

Ah! la pauvre,” cried the good woman, pressing for- 
ward as she saw how faint, heated, and exhausted was the 
wanderer. “ Come in, ma pauvrette. Only a bride at 
the Bartholomew! Alas! There, lean on me, my dear.'^ 

To be tutoyee by the Eermiere Rotrou was a shock; yet 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


181 


the kind manner was comfortable, and Eustacie suffered 
herself to be led into the farm-house, where, as the dame 
observed, she need not fear chance-comers, for they lived 
much to themselves, and no one would be about till their 
boy Robinet came in with the cows. She might rest and 
eat there in security, and after that they would find a hid- 
ing-place for her — safe as the horns of the altar — for a 
night or two; only for two nights at most. 

“ Nor do I ask more, said Eustacie. ‘‘ Then Martin 
will come for me. 

“ Ay, I, or Blaise, or whichever of us can do it with least 
suspicion. 

“ She shall meet you here,^'’ added Eotrou. 

‘‘ All right, good man; I understand; it is best I should 
not know where you hide her. Those rogues have tricks 
that make it as well to know nothing. Farewell, madame, 
I commend you to all the saints till I come for you on 
Monday morning.^'’ 

Eustacie gave him her hand to kiss, and tried to thank 
him, but somehow her heart sunk, and she felt more lonely 
than ever, when entirely cast loose among these absolute 
strangers than amongst her own vassals. Even the farm- 
kitchen, large, stone-built, and scrupulously clean, seemed 
strange and dreary after the little, smoky, earth-built liv- 
ing-rooms in which her peasantry were content to live, and 
she never had seemed to herself so completely desolate; but 
all the time she was so wearied out with her long and pain- 
ful walk, that she had no sooner taken some food than she 
began to doze in her chair. 

Father,^ ^ said the good wife, “ we had better take la 
pauvrette to her rest at once. 

“ Ah! must I go any further sighed Eustacie. 

“ It is but a few fields beyond the yard, ma petite,” said 
the good woman consolingly; and it will be safer to take 
you there ere we need a light. ^ ^ 

The sun had just set on a beautiful evening of a spring 
that happily for Eustacie had been unusually warm and 
mild, when they set forth, the dame having loaded her hus- 
band with a roll of bedding, and herself taking a pitcher of 
milk and a loaf of bread, whilst Eustacie, as usual, carried 
her own small parcel of clothes and jewels. The way was 
certainly not long to any one less exhausted than she; it 
was along a couple of fields, and then through a piece of 


182 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


thicket;, where Eotroii held back the boughs and his wife 
almost dragged her on with kind encouraging words, till 
they came up to a stone ivy- covered wall, and coasting 
along it to a tower, evidently a staircase turret. Here 
Rotrou, holding aside an enormous bush of ivy, showed the 
foot of a winding staircase, and his wife assured her tliat 
she would not have far to climb. 

She knew where she was now. She had heard of the old 
Refectory of the Knights Templars. Partly demolished by 
the hatred of the people upon the abolition of the order, it 
had ever since lain waste, and had become the center of all 
the ghostly traditions of the country; the locality of all the 
most horrid tales of revenants told under the breath at 
Dame Perrine^s hearth or at recreation hour at Bellaise. 
Her courage was not proof against spiritual terrors. She 
panted and leaned against the wall, as she faintly ex- 
claimed, ‘‘ The temple — there — and alone 

‘‘ Nay, lady, methought as Monsieur votre mari knew 
the true light, you would fear no vain terror nor power of 
darkness. " 

Should these peasants — these villains — be bold, and see 
the descendant of the ‘‘ bravest of knights,'’^ the daughter 
of the house of Ribaumont, afraid? She rallied herself, 
and replied manfully, “ 1 fear not, no!^^ but then, woman- 
fidly, But it is the temple! It is haunted! Tell me 
what I must expect. 

“ I tell you truly, madame,” said Rotrou; “ none whom 
I have sheltered here have seen aught. On the faith of a 
Christian, no evil spirit-^no ghost— has ever alarmed them; 
but they were fortified by prayer and psalm. 

I do pray! I have a psalm-book,^ ^ said Eustacie, and 
she added to herself, ‘‘No, they shall never see that I fear. 
After all, revenants can do nothing worse than scare one; 
they can not touch one; the saints and angels Avill not let 
them — and my uncle, would do much worse. 

But to climb those winding stairs, and resign herself to 
be left alone with the Templars for the night, was by far 
the severest trial that had yet befallen the poor young fugi- 
tive. As her tired feet dragged up the crumbling steps, 
her memory reverted to the many tales of the sounds heard 
by night Avithin those Avails — church chants turning into 
diabolical songs, and ending in terrific shrieks — or of the 
sights that had chased beAvildered travelers into thickets iind 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


183 


morasses, where they had been found in the morning, shud- 
dering as tliey told of a huge white monk, with clanking 
weapons, and a burning cross of fire printed on his shoul- 
der and breast, who stood on the walls and hurled a shriek- 
ing babe into the abyss. Were such S2:)ectacles awaiting 
her? Must she bear them, and could her endurance hold 
out? Our Lady be her aid, and spare her in her need ! 

At the top of the stairs she found Rotrou^s hand, ready 
to help her out on a stone floor, quite dark, but thickly 
covered, as she felt and smelled, with trusses of hay, be- 
tween which a glimmering light showed a narrow 2:)assage. 
A few steps guided by Rotroids hand, brought her out into 
the light again, and she found herself in a large chamber, 
with the stone floor broken away in some places, and with 
a circular window, thickly veiled with ivy, but still admit- 
ting a good deal of evening light. 

It was in fact a chamber over the vaulted refectory of the 
knights. The walls and vaults still standing in their mass- 
ive solidity, must have tempted some peasant, or mayhap 
some adventurer, rudely to cover in the roof (which had of 
course been stripj^ed of its leading), and thus in the unsus- 
pected space to secure a hiding-place, often for less inno- 
cent commodities than the salt, which the iniquitous and 
oppressive gcibelU had always led the French peasant to 
smuggle, ever since the days of the first Valois. The room 
had a certain appearance of comfort; there was a partition 
across it, a hearth with some remains of wood-ashes, a shelf, 
holding a plate, ciij^, lamj), and a few other necessaries; 
and altogether the aspect of the place was so unlike what 
Eustacie had expected, that she almost forgot the Templar 
as she saw the dame begin to arrange a comfortable-looking 
couch for her wearied limbs. Yet she felt veiy unwilling 
to let them depart, and even ventured on faltering out the 
inquiry whether the good woman could not stay with her — 
she would reward her largely. 

‘‘It is for the love of Heaven, madame, not for gain,'’^ 
said Nanon Rotrou, rather stiffly. “ If you were ill, or 
needed me, all must then give way; but for me to be ab- 
sent this evening would soon be reported around the village 
down there, for there are many who would find occasion 
against us.^^ But, by way of consolation, they gave her a 
whistle, and showed her that the window of their cottage 
was much nearer to a loophole-slit looking toward the east 


184 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


than she hiicl fancied. . The whistle perpetrated a most un- 
earthly screech/ a good deal like that of an owl, but more 
discordant, and Nanon assured her that the sound would 
assuredly break her slumbers, and bring her in a few min- 
utes at any moment of need. In fact, the noise^ was so like 
the best authenticated accounts of the shrieks indulged in 
by the spirits of the temple, that Eustacie had wit enough 
to suspect that it might be the foundation of some of the 
stories; and with that solace to her alarms, she endured the 
departure of her hosts, Nanoii promising a visit in the 
early morning. 

The poor child was too weary to indulge in many terrors, 
the beneficent torpor of excessive fatigue was ujjon her, 
happily bringing slumberous oblivion instead of feverish 
restlessness. She strove to repeat her accustomed orisons: 
but sleep was too strong for her, and she was soon lying 
dreamlessly upon the clean homely couch pre2)ared for her. 

When she awoke, it was with a start. 'I'he moon was 
shining in through the circular window, making strange 
white shapes on the floor, all quivering with the shadows 
of the ivy sprays. It looked strange and eerie enough at 
the moment, but she understood it the next, and would 
have been reassured if she had not become aware that there 
was a low sound, a tramj), tramp, below her. “ Gracious 
saints! The Templar! Have mercy on me! Oh! I was 
too sleepy to pray! Guard me from being driven wild by 
fright!^' She sat upright, with wide-spread eyes, and, 
finding that she herself was in the moonlight, through 
some opening in the roof, she took refuge in the darkest 
corner, though aware as she crouched there, that if this 
were, indeed the Templar, concealment would be in vain, 
and remembering suddenly that she was out of reach of 
the loo2)-hole window. 

And therewith there was a tired sound in the tread, as if 
the Temjflar found his weird a very lengthy one; then a 
long heavy breath, with something so essentially human in 
its sound, that the fluttering heart beat more steadily. If 
reason told her that the living were more perilous to her 
than the dead, yet feeling infinitely preferred them! It 
might be Hanon Rotrou after all; then how foolish to be 
crouching there in a fright! It was rustling through the 
hay. No — no Nanon; it is a male figure, it has along 
cloak on. Ah! it is in the moonlight — silver hair — silver 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


185 


beard. The Templar! Fascinated with dismay, yet calling 
to mind that no ghost has power unless addressed, she sat 
still, crossing herself in silence, but unable to call to mind 
any prayer or invocation save a continuous ‘‘ Ave Mary,^^ 
and trying to restrain her gasping breath, lest, if he were 
not the Templar after all, he might discover her presence. 

He moved about, took off his cloak, laid it down near the 
ha}^, then his cap, not a helmet after all, and there was no 
fiery cross. He was in the gloom again, and she heard him 
moving much as though he were pulling down the hay to 
form a bed. Did ghosts ever do anything so sensible? If 
he were an embodied spirit, would it be possible to creep 
past him and escape while he lay asleep? She was almost 
becoming familiarized with the presence, and the super- 
natural terror was passing off into a consideration of re- 
sources, when, behold, he was beginning to sing. To sing 
was the very way the ghosts began ere they came to their 
devilish outcries. Our Lady keep it from bringing 
frenzy. But hark! hark!^^ It was not one of the chants, 
it was a tune and words lioai-d in older times of her life; it 
was the evening hymn, that the little husband and wife 
had been won'* to sing to the baron in the Chateau de 
Leurre — Marco’s version of the 4th Psalm. 

“ Plus de joie m’est donnee 
^ Par ce moyen, O Dieu Tr^s-Haut, 

Que n’ont ceux qui out grant annee 

^ De froment et bonne vinee, 

D’hiiile et tout ce qu'il leur fault.” 

If it had indeed been the ghostly chant, perhaps Eustacie 
y/ould not have been able to help joining it. As it was, the 
familiar home words irresistibly impelled her to mingle her 
voice, scarce knowing what she did, in the verse — 

“ Si qu’en paix et surete bonne 
Couclierai et reposerai; 

Car, Seigneur la bonte tout ordonue 
\ Et elle seule espoir me douue 

I Que sur et seul regnant serai.” 

► The hymn died away in its low cadence, and then, ere 
Eustacie had had time to think of the consequences of thus 
t raising her voice, the new-comer demanded : 

1 Is there then another wanderer here?” 

I “Ah! sir, pardon me!” she exclaimed. 


“ 1 will not 


18G 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


long importune you, but only till morning light — only till 
the Fermiere Rotroii comes.'’'’ 

‘ ' If Mattliieu and Anne Eotrou placed you here, then 
all is well,'’^ replied the stranger. “ Fear not, daughter, 
but tell me. Ai’e you one of niy scattered flock, or one 
whose parents are known to me?'’'’ Then, as she hesitated, 
‘‘I am Isaac Garden — escaped, alas! alone, from the 
slaughter of the Barthelemy. ^ ^ 

‘‘Master Garden!'^ cried Eustacie. “ Oh, I know! 
Oh, sir, my husband loved and honored you. '’^ 

“ Your husband?'’^ 

“ \ es, sir, le Baron de Ribaumont. 

“ That fair and godly youth! My dear old patron ^s son! 
You — you! But — with a shade of doubt, almost of dis- 
may, “ the boy was wedded — wedded to the heiress — 

“ Yes, yes, I am that unhappy one! We were to have 
fled together on that dreadful night. He came to meet me 
to the Louvre — to his doom!"' she gasped out, nearer to 
tears than she had ever been since that time, such a novelty 
was it to her to hear Berenger spoken of in kind or tender 
terms; and in her warmth of feeling, she came out of lier 
corner, and held out her hand to him. 

“ Alas! poor thing!’" said the minister, compassionately, 
“ Heaven has tried you sorely. Had I known of y*Our pres- 
ence here, I would not have entered ; but I have been' ? b- 
sent long, and stole into my lair here Mu’thout disturRb'g 
the^good people below. Forgive the intrusion, madame. ’’ 

“ No, sir, it is I who have to ask pardon. Were I not .-a 
desolate fugitive, with nowhere to hide myself, I would not 
incommode you. "" , 

The minister replied warmly that surely persecution was a 
brotherhood, even had she not been the widow of one he 
had loved and lamented. 


“ Ah! sir, it does me good to hear you say so. "" 

And therewith Eustacie remembered the hospitalities of 
her loft. She perceived by the tones of the old man’s voice 
that he was tired, and probably fasting, and she felt about 
for the milk and bread with wliich she had been supplied. 
It was a most welcome refreshment, though he only par- 
took sparingly; and while he eat, the two, so strangely met, 
came to a fuller knowledge of one another’s circumstances" 
Master Isaac Garden had, it appeared, been residing at 
Pans, in the house of the watch-maker whose daughter had 



THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


187 


been newly married to his son; but on the fatal eve of St. 
Bartholomew, he had been sent for to pray with a sick per- 
son in another quarter of the city. The Catholic friends 
of the invalid were humane, and when the horrors began, 
not only concealed their kinsman, but almost forcibly shut 
up the minister in the same cellar with him. And thus, 
most reluctantly, had he been spated from the fate that 
overtook his son and daughter-in-law. A lone and well- 
nigh broken-hearted man, he had been smuggled out of the 
city, and had since that time been wandering from one to 
another of the many scattered settlements of Huguenots in 
the northern part of France, who, being left pastorless, wel- 
comed visits from the minister of their religion, and passed 
him on from one place to another, as his stay in each began 
to be suspected by the authorities. He was now on his way 
along the west side of France, with no fixed purpose, except 
so far as, since Heaven had spared his life when all that 
made it dear had been taken from him, he resigned himself 
to believe that there was yet some duty left for him to f ul- 
•fill. 

Meantime the old man was wearied out; and after due 
courtesies had passed between him and the lady in the dark, 
he prayed long and fervently, as Eustacie could judge from 
the intensity of the low murmurs she heard; and then she 
heard him, with a heavy irrepressible sigh, lie down on the 
couch of hay he had already prepared for himself, and soon 
his regular breathings announced his sound slumbers. She 
was already on the bed she had so precipitately quitted, and 
not a thought more did she give to the Templars, living or 
dead, even though she heard an extraordinary snapping 
and hissing, and in the dawn of the morning saw a white 
weird thing, like a huge moth, flit in through the circular 
window, take up its station on a beam above the hay, 
and look down with the brightest, roundest eyes she had 
ever beheld. Let owls and bats come where they would, 
she was happier than she had been for months. Compas- 
sion for herself was plentiful enough, but to have heard 
Berenger spoken of with love and admiration seemed to 
quiet the worst ache of her lonely heart. 


188 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


CHAPTEE XVIIL, 

THE MOONBEAM. 

She wandered east, she wandered west, 

She wandered out and in; 

And at last into the very swine’s stythe 
The queen brought forth a son. 

Fause Foodrage. 

The morrow was Sunday, and in the old refectory, in 
the late afternoon, a few Huguenots, warned by messages 
from the farm, met to profit % one of their scanty secret 
opportunities for public worship. The hum of the prayer, 
and discourse of the pastor, rose up through the broken 
vaulting to Eustacie, still lying on her bed; for she had 
been much shaken by the fatigues of the day and alarm of 
the night, and bitterly grieved, too, by a message which 
Nanon conveyed to her, that poor Martin was in no state to 
come for her the next day; both he and his wife having 
been seized upon by Narcisse and his men, and so savagely 
beaten in order to force from them a confession of her hid- 
ing-place, that both were lying helpless on their bed ; and 
could only send an entreaty by the trustworthy fool, that 
Eotrou would find means of conveying madame into Chol- 
let in some cai-t of hay or corn, in which she could be 
taken past the barriers. 

But this was not to be. Good Nanon had sacrificed the 
sermon to creep up to Eustacie, and when the congregation 
were dispersing in the dusk, she stole down the stairs to 
lier husband; and in a few seconds after he was hurrying 
as fast as detours would allow him to Blaise ^s farm. An 
hour and a half later. Dame Perrine, closely blindfolded 
for the last mile, was dragged up the spiral staircase, and 
ere the bandage was removed heard Eustacie^s -voice, with 
a certain cheeriness, say, “Oh! nurse; my son will soon 
come!'’' 

The full moon gave her light, and the woman durst not 
have any other, savq from the wood-fire that Nanon hacl 
cautiously lighted and screened. The moonshine was still 
supreme, wlien some time ‘later a certain ominous silence 
and half-whisper between the two women at the hearth 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 189 

made Eustacie, with a low cry of terror, exclaim, “ Nurse, 
nurse, what means this? Oh! He lives! I know he lives! 
Perrine, I command you tell me!^^ 

“ Living! Oh, yes, my love, my lady,^^ answered Per- 
rine, returning toward her; “fair and perfect as the day. 
Be not disquieted for a moment. 

“ I will — I will disquiet myself,^ ^ panted Euetacie, “ un- 
less you tell me what is amiss. 

“ Nothing amiss, said Nanon gruffly. “ Madame will 
give thanks for this fair gift of a daughter. 

It must be owned the words felt chill. She had never 
thought of this! It was as if the being for whom she had 
dared and suffered so much, in the trust that he would be 
Berenger^s representative and avenger, had failed her and 
disappointed her. No defender, no paladin, no son to be 
proud of! Her heart and courage sunk down in her weak- 
ness as they had never done before; and, without speaking, 
she turned her head away toward the darkness, feeling as 
if all had been for nothing, and she might as well sink 
away in her exhaustion. Mere Perrine was more angry 
with Nanon than conscious of her lady^s weakness. 
“ Woman, you speak as if you knew not the blow to this 
family, and to all who hoped for better days. What, that 
my lady, the heiress, who ought to be in a bed of state, 
with velvet curtains, lace pillows, gold caudle-cups, should 
be here in a vile ruin, among owls and bats, like any beg- 
gar, and all for the sake, not of a young lord to raise up 
the family, but of a miserable little girl! Had I known 
how it would turn out, I had never meddled in this mad 
scheme. 

Before Nanon could express her indignation, Eustacie 
had turned her head, opened her eyes, and called out, 
“ Miserable! Oh! what do you mean? Oh, is it true, 
Nanon? is it well with her?^^ 

“ As well as heart could wish,^^ answered Nanon, cheer- 
ily. “ Small, but a perfect little piece of sugar. There, 
lady, she shall speak for herself. 

And as Nanon laid the babe on the mother^s bosom, the 
thrilling touch at once put an end to all the repinings of 
the heiress, and awoke far other instincts. 

“ My child! my little one, my poor little orphan — all 
cruel to her! Oh, no welcome even from thy mother! 
Babe, babe^ pardon me, I will make it up to thee; indeed 


190 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


I will! Oh! let me see her! Do not take her away, dear 
good woman, only hold her in the moonlight !^^ 

The full rays of the moon, shining through the gable 
window, streamed down very near where Eustacie lay, and 
by a slight movement Dame Eotrou was able to render the 
little face as distinctly visible to her as if it had been day- 
light, save that the blanching light was somewhat em- 
bellishing to the new-born complexion, and increased that 
curious resemblance so often borne for the first few hours 
of life to the future self. Eustacie^s cry at once was, 
‘‘ Himself, himself — ^liis very face! Let me have her, my 
own moonbeam — his child — my joy!’^ 

The tears, so long denied, rushed down like summer rain 
as she clasped the diild in her arms. Dame Perrine wan- 
dered to and fro, like one beside herself, not only at her 
lady^s wretched accommodations, but at the ill omens of 
the moonlight illumination, of the owls who snapped and 
hissed incessantly over the hay, and above all of the tears 
over the babels face. She tried to remonstrate with Eus- 
tacie, but was answered only, “ Let me weep! Oh, let me 
weep! It eases my heart! It can not hurt my little one! 
She can not weep for her father herself, so I must weep for 
her.^^ 

The weeping was gentle, not violent; and Dame Rotrou 
thought it did good rather than harm. She was chiefly 
anxious to be quit of Perrine, who, however faithful to 
the Lady of Ribaumont, must not be trusted to learn the 
way to this Huguenot asylum, and must be escorted back 
by Rotrou ere peep of dawn. The old woman knew that 
her own absence from home would be suspicious, and with 
many grumblings submitted; but first she took the child 
from Eustacie^s reluctant arms, promising to restore her in 
a few moments, after finishing dressing her in the lace- 
edged swaddling-bands so carefully preserved ever since 
Eustacie^ s own babyhood. In these moments she had taken 
them all by surprise by, without asking any questions, 
sprinkling the babe with water, and baptizing her by the 
hereditary name of Berengere, the feminine of the only 
name Eustacie had always declared her son should bear. 
Such baptisms were not unfrequently performed by French 
nurses, but Eustacie exclaimed with a sound half dismav, 
half indignation. 

Eh quoi!” said Perrine, “it is only ondoyee. You 


THE f llAlMVET OF PEAllLS. 


101 


can have all the ceremonies if ever time shall fit; but do 
you think I could Inave my lady’s child — mere girl thougli 
it be- — alone with owls, and follets, and r&venanti^, and 
heretics, and she unbaptized? Slio would be a changeling 
long ere morning, 1 trow. ” 

“ Come, good woman,” said Rotrou, from between the 
trusses of hay at the entrance; “ you and I must begin our 
Colin-Maillard again, or it may be the worst for us both. ” 

And with the promise of being conducted to Eustacie 
again in three nights’ time, if she would meet her guide at 
the cross-roads after dark, Perrine was forced to take her 
leave. She had never suspected that all this time Maitre 
Garden had been hidden in the refectory below, and still 
less did she guess that soon after her departure the old man 
was mstalled as her lady’s chief attendant. It was impos- 
sible that Nanon should stay with Eustacie; she had her 
day’s work to attend to, and her absence would have excit- 
ed suspicion. He, therefore, came partly up the stairs, 
and calling to Nanon, proffered himself to -sit with cMte 
fauvre,^ and make a signal in case Nanon should be 
wanted. The good woman was thus relieved of a great 
care. She would not have dared to ask it of him, but with 
a low reverence, she owned that it was an act of great 
charity toward the poor lady, who, she hoped, was falling 
into a tranquil sleep, but whom she would hardly have 
dared to leave. ""The pastor, though hardships, battles, 
and persecutions had left him childless, had been the father 
of a large family; and perhaps he was drawn the more 
strongly toward the mother and child, because he almost 
felt as if, in fulfilling the part of a father toward the widow 
of Berenger de Ribaumont, he was taking her in the stead 
of the widow of his own Theodore. 

H ad the little Baronne de Ribaumont been lodged in a 
tapestried chamber, between curtains of velvet and gold, 
with a heauffet by her side glistening with gold and silver 
plate, as would have befitted her station, instead of lying- 
on a bed of straw, with no hangings to the walls save cob- 
webs and hay, no curtains to her unglazed windows but 
dancing ivy-sprays and wall-flowers, no heaufet but the 
old rickety table, no attendants but Nanon and M. Garden, 
no. visitors but tiie two white owds, no provisions save the 
homely fare that rustic mothers lived upon — neither she 
nor her babe could have thriven better, and probably not 


192 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


half SO well. She had been used to a hardy, out-of-door 
life, like the j^e^sant- women; and she was young and 
strong, so "that she recovered as th^y did. If the April 
shower beat in at the window, or the hole in the roof, they 
made a screen of canvas, covered her with cloaks, and 
heaped them with hay, and she took no harm; and the pure 
open air that blew in was soft with all the southern sweet- 
ness of early spring-tide, and the little one throve in it like 
the puff-ball owlets in the hay-loft, or the little ring-doves 
in tlie ivy, whose parentis cooing voice was Eustacie's fa- 
vorite music. Almost as good as these her fellow-nestlings 
was the little Moonbeam, la petite Rayonette, as Eustacie 
fondly called this light that had come back to her from the 
sunshine she had lost. Had she cried or been heard, the 
sounds would probably have passed for the wailings of the 
ghostly victims of the Templar, but she exercised an ex- 
emplary forbearance in that respect, for which Eustacie 
thought she could not be sufficiently admired. 

Like the child she was, Eustacie seemed to have put care 
from her, and to be solely taken up with the baby, and the 
amusement of watching the owl family. 

There was a lull in the search at this moment, for the 
chevalier had been recalled to Paris by the fatal illness of 
liis son-in-law, M. de Selinville. The old soldier, after liv- 
ing half his life on bread and salad, that he might keep up 
a grand appearance at Paris, had, on coming into the 
wealth of the family, and marrying a beautiful wife, re- 
turned to the luxuries he had been wont only to enjoy for 
a few weeks at a time, when in military occupation of some 
Italian town. Three months of festivities had been enough 
to cause his de^th; and the chevalier was summoned to as- 
sist his daughter in providing for his obsequies, and in tak- 
ing possession of the huge endowments which, as the last 
of his race, he had been able to bequeath to her. Such 
was the news brought by the old nurse Perrine, who took 
advantage of the slackening vigilance of the enemy to come 
to see Eustacie. The old woman was highly satisfied; for 
one of the peasants’ \vives had — as if on purpose to oblige 
her lady — given birth to twins, one of whom had died al- 
most immediately; and the 2jarents had consented to con- 
ceal their loss, and at once take the little Demoiselle de 
Ribaumont as their own — guarding the secret till her moth- 
er should be able to claim her. It was so entirely the 


THE CHAPLET OP PEARLS. 


193 


practice, under the most favorable circumstances, for 
French mothers to send their infants to be nursed in cot- 
tages, that Perrine was amazed by the cry of angry refusal 
that burst from Eustacie, “ Part with my child! Leave 
her to her enemies! — never! never! Hold your tongue, 
Perrine! I will not hear of such a thing ° 

“ But, madame, hear reason. She will pass for one of 
Simonette‘’s!'’-’ 

“ She shall pass for none but mine! I part with thee, 
indeed! All that is left me of thy father! — the poor little 
orphaned innocent, that no one loves but her mother !^^ 

“Madame — mademoiselle, this is not common sense! 
Why, how can you hide yourself? how travel with a baby 
on your neck, whose crying may betray you?^^ 

“ She never cries — never, never! And better I were be- 
trayed than she. 

“ If it were a boy — began Perrine. 

“ If it were a boy, thei-e would be plenty to care for it. I 
should not care for it half so much. As for my poor little 
lonely girl, whom every one wishes away but her mother — 
ah! yes, baby, thy mother will go through fire and water 
for tnee yet. Never fear, thou shalt not leave her!^'’ 

“ No nurse can go with madame. Simonette could not 
leave her home.^^ 

“ What needs a nurse when she has me?^^ 

“ But, madanie,’’^ proceeded the old woman, out of pa- 
tience, “ you are beside yourself! What noble lady ever 
nursed her babe?^^ 

“ I don^t care for noble ladies — I care for my child, 
said the vehement, petulant little thing. 

“ And how — what good will madame ^s caring for it do? 
What knows she of infants? How can she take care of it?” 

“ Our Lady will teach me,^^ said Eustacie, still pressing 
the child passionately to her heart; “ and see — the owl — 
the ring-dove — can take care of their little ones; the good 
God shows them how — He will tell me how!” 

Perrine regarded her lady much as if she were in a 
naughty fit, refusing unreasonably to part with a new toy, 
and Nanon Kotrou was much of the same mind; but it was 
evident that if at the moment they attempted to cany off 
the babe, the mother would put herself into an agony of 
passion, that they durst not call forth; and they found it 
needful to do their best to soothe her out of the deluge of 
7 


194 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAIILS. 


agitated tears that fell from her eyes, as she grasped the 
child so convulsively that she might almost have stifled it 
at once. They assured her that they would not take it 
away now — not now, at any rate; and when the latent 
meaning made her fiercely insist that it was to leave her 
neither now nor ever, Perrine made pacifying declarations 
that it should be just as she pleased — promises that she knew 
well, when in that coaxing voice, meant nothing at all. 
Nothing calmed her till Perrine had been conducted away; 
and even then Nanon could not hush her into anything like 
repose, and at last called in the minister, in despair. 

‘‘ Ah! sir, you are a wise man; can you find how to quiet 
the poor little thing? Her nurse has nearly driven her dis- 
tracted with talking of the foster-parents she has found for 
the child. ” 

“Not found I cried Eustacie. “ No, for she shall never 

goV’ 

“ There lamented Nanon — “ so she agitates herself, 
when it is but spoken of. And surely she h^ better make 
u]) her mind, for there is no other choice. 

“Nay, Nanon, said M. Gardon, “ wherefore should 
she part with the charge that God has laid on her?^^ 

Eustacie gave a little cry of grateful joy. “ Oh, sir, 
come nearer! Do you, indeed, say that they have no right 
to tear her from me?^^ 

“ Surely not, lady. It is you whose duty it is to shield 
and guard her.^^ 

“Oh, sir, tell me again! Yours is the right religion. 
Oh, you are the minister for me ! If you will tell me I 
ought to keep my child, then I will believe everything else. 
I will do just as you tell me.-’^ And she stretched out 
both hands to him with vehement eagerness. 

“ Poor thing! This is no matter of one religion or an- 
other,^ ^ said the minister; “ it is rather the duty that the 
Almighty hath imposed, and that He hath made an eternal 

Joy-'' 

“ Truly, said Nanon, ashamed at having taken the 
other side; “ the good pasteur says what is according to 
nature. It would have gone hard with me if any one had 
wished to part me from Robin or Sara; but these fine ladies, 
and, for that matter, hourgeoises, too, always do put out 
their babes; and it seemed to me that madame would find 
it hard to contrive for herself— let alone the little one, ” 


THE CHAPLET OP PEARLS. 


195 


“Ah! but what would be the use of contriving for my- 
self without her.?’ ^ said Bustacie. 

If all had gone well and prosperously with Mme. de Ri- 
baumont, probably she would have surrendered an infant 
born in purple and in pall to the ordinary lot of its con- 
temporaries; but the exertions and suifering she had under- 
gone on behalf of her child, its orphanhood, her own loneli- 
ness, and even the general disappointment in its sex, had 
given it a hold on her vehement, determined heart, that 
intensified to the utmost the instincts of motherhood; and 
she listened as if to an angel’s voice as Maitre Garden re- 
plied to Nanon: 

“ I say not that it is not the custom; nay, that my 
blessed wife and myself have not followed it; but we have 
so oft had cause to repent the necessity, that far be it from 
me ever to bid a woman forsake her sucking child. ” 

“Is that Scripture?” asked Eustacie. “Ah! sir, sir, 
tell me more! You are giving me all — all — my child! I 
will be — I am — a Huguenot like her father! and, when my 
vassals come, I will make them ride with you to La Ro- 
chelle, and fight in your cause!” 

“ Nay,” said Maitre Garden, taken by surprise; “but, 
lady, your vassals are Catholic. ” 

“ What matters it? In my cause they shall fight!” said 
the feudal lady, “ for me and my daughter!” 

And as the pastor uttered a sound of interrogative aston- 
ishment, she continued: 

“ As soon as I am well enough Blaise will send out mes- 
sages, and they will meet me at midnight at the cross- 
roads, Martin and all, for dear good Martin is quite well 
now, and we shall ride across country, avoiding towns, 
wherever I choose to lead them. I had thought of Chan- 
tilly, for I know Monsieur de Montmorency would stand 
my friend against a Guisard; but now, now I know you, 
sir, let me escort you to La Rochelle, and do your cause 
service worthy of Nid-de-Merle and Ribaumont!” And as 
she sat up on h^r bed, she held up her little proud head, 
and waved her right hand with the grace and dignity of a 
queen offering an alliance of her realm. 

Maitre Ga^on, who had liitherto seen her as a childish 
though cheerful and patient sufferer, was greatly amazed, 
but he could not regard her project as practicable, or in 
his conscience approve it; and after a moment’s considera- 


196 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


tion he answered, “ I am a man of peace, lady, and seldom 
side with armed men, nor would I*lightly make one of those 
who enroll themselves against the king. 

“ Not after all the queen-mother has done?^^ cried 
Eustacie. 

“ Martyrdom is better than rebellion, quietly answered 
the old man, folding his hands. Then he added, Far be 
it from me ta blame those who have drawn the sword for 
the faith; yet, lady, it would not be even thus with your 
peasants; they might not follow you. 

“ Then,^^ said Eustacie, with flashing eyes, “ they would 
be traitors. 

“Not to the king,^^ said the pastor, gently. “ Also, 
lady, how will it be with their homes and families- — the 
hearths that have given you such faithful shelter?’^ 

“ The women would take to the woods, readily answered 
she; “it is summer time, and they should be willing to 
bear something for my sake. I should grieve indeed,^^ she 
added, ‘ ‘ if my uncle misused them. They have been very 
good to me, but then they belong to me. 

“ Ah! lady, put from you that hardening belief of seign- 
eurs. Think what their fldelity deserves from their lady. 

“ I will be good to them! I do love them! I will be 
their very good mistress, said Eustacie, her eyes filling. 

“ The question is rather of forbearing than of doing, 
said the minister. 

“ But what would you have me do asked Eustacie, pet- 
ulantly. 

“ This, lady. I gather that you would not return to 
your relations. 

“ Never! never! They would rend my babe from me; 
they would kill her, or at least hide her forever in a con- 
vent — they would force me into this abhorrent marriage. 
No — no — no— my child and I would die a hundred deaths 
together rather than fall into the hands of Narcisse.'^'' 

“ Calm yourself, lady; there is no present fear, but I 
deem that the safest course for the little one would be to 
place her in England. She must be heiress to lands and 
estates there; is she not?^^ 

“ Yes; and in Normandy. 

“ And your husband ^s mother lives? Wherefore then 
should you not take me for your guide, and make your 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


197 


way — more secretly tlia% would be possible with a peasant 
escort — to one of our Huguenot towns on the coast, whence 
you could escape with the child to England?"^ 

M.y l)elle-me7'e has re-married! She .has cliildren! I 
would not bring the daughter of Ribaumont as a suppliant 
to be scorned 1^^ said Eustacie, pouting. “ She has lands 
enough of her own. 

“ There is no need to discuss the question now,^^ said 
M. Gardon, gravely; for a most kind offer, involving much 
peril and inconvenience to himself, was thus petulantly 
flouted. “ Madame will think at her leisure of what would 
have been the wishes of Monsieur le Baron for his child. ” 

He then held himself aloof, knowing that it was not well 
for her health, mental or bodily, to talk any more, and a 
good deal perplexed himself by the moods of his strange 
little impetuous convert, if convert she could be termed. 
He himself was a deeply learned scholar, who had studied 
all the bearings of the controversy; and, though bound to 
the French Huguenots by long service and persecution in 
their cause, he belonged to that class of the French Re- 
formers who would gladly have come to terms with the 
Catholics at the Conference of Plassy, and regretted the 
more decided Calvinism that his party had since professed, 
and in which the Day of St. Bartholomew conflrmed them. 
He had a strong sense of the grievous losses they suffered 
by their disunion from the Church. The Reformed were 
less and less what his ardent youthful hopes had trusted to 
see them; and in his old age he was a sorrow-stricken man, 
as much for the cause of religion as for personal bereave- 
ments. He had little desire to win proselytes, but rather 
laid his hand to build up true religion where he found it 
suffering shocks in these unsettled, neglected times; and 
his present wish was rather to form and guide this little 
willful warm-hearted mother — whom he could not help 
regarding with as much affection as pity — to find a home 
in the Church that had been her husband^s, than to gain 
her to his own party. And most assuredly he would never 
let her involve herself, as she was ready to do, in the civil 
war, without even knowing the doctrine which grave and 
earnest men had preferred to their loyalty. 

He could hear her murmuring to her baby, No, no, 
little one, we are not fallen so low as to beg our bread 
among strangers. To live upon her own vassals had 


198 


THU CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


seemed to her only claiming her jjist rights, but it galled 
her to think of being beholden to stranger Huguenots; and 
England and her mother-in-law, without Berenger, were 
utterly foreign ai;d distasteful to her. 

Her mood was variable. Messages from Blaise and Mar- 
tin came and went, and it became known that her intended 
shelter at Chollet, together with all the adjacent houses, 
had been closely searched by the younger Kibaumont in 
conjunction with the governor; so that it was plain that 
some treachery must exist, and that she only owed her 
present freedom to her detention in the ruined temple; and 
it would be necessary to leave that as soon as it was possible 
for her to attempt the journey. 

The plan that seemed most feasible to the vassals was, 
that Eotrou should convey her in a cart of fagots as far as 
possible on the road to Paris; that there his men should 
meet her by different roads, riding their farm-horses—and 
Martin even hoped to be able to convey her own palfrey to 
her from the monastery stables; and thence, taking a long 
stretch across country, they trusted to be able to reach the 
lands of a dependant of the house of Montmorency, who 
would not readily yield her up to a Guise ^s man. But, 
whether instigated by Perrine, or by their own judgment, 
the vassals declared that, though madame should be con- 
ducted wherever she desired, it was impossible to encumber 
themselves with the infant. Concealment would be impos- 
sible; rough, hasty rides would be retarded, her difficulties 
would be tenfold increased, and the little one would be- 
come a means of tracing her. There was no choice but to 
leave it with Simonette. 

Angrily and haughtily did Eustacie always reject this 
alternative, and send fresh commands back by her messen- 
ger, to meet tlie same reply in another form. The strong 
will and maternal instinct of the lady was set against the 
shrewd, practical resolution of the stout farmers, who were 
about to make a terrible venture for her and might reason- 
ably think they had a right to prescribe the terms that 
they thought best. All this time Maitre Garden felt it im- 
possible to leave her, still weak and convalescent, alone in 
the desolate ruin with her young child; though still her 
pride would not bend again to seek the counsel that she 
had so mucli detested, nor to ask for the instruction that 
was to make her “ believe like her husband. If she might 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 199 

not fight for the Reformed, it seemed as if she would none 
of their doctrine ! # 

But, true lady that she was, she sunk the differences in 
her intercourse with him. 8he was always prettily and 
affectionately grateful for every service that he rendered 
her, and as graciously polite as though she had been keep- 
ing house in the halls of Ribaumont. Then her intense 
love for her child was so beautiful, and there was so much 
sweetness in the cheerful patience with which she endured 
the many hardships of her situation, that he could not help 
being strongly interested in the willful, spirited little being. 

And thus time passed, until one night, when Martin vent- 
ured over to the farm with a report so serious that Rotrou, 
at all risks, brought him up to communicate his own tid- 
ings. Some one had given information, Veronique he sus- 
pected, and the two chevaliers were certainly coming the 
next day to search with fire the old buildings of the tem- 
ple. It was already dawning toward morning, and it would 
be impossible, to do more at present than to let Rotrou 
build up the lady in a vault, some little way off, whence, 
after the search was over, she could be released, and join 
her vassals the next night according to the original design. 

As to the child, her presence in the vault was impossible, 
and Martin had actually brought her intended nurse, 
Simonette, to Rotrou^s cottage to receive her. 

‘‘NeverT^ was all Eustacie answered. “Save both of 
us, or neither. 

“ Lady,^^ said M. Garden as she looked toward him, “ I 
go my way with my staff. 

“ And you — yon more faithful than her vassals — will let 
me take her?^^ 

“ Assuredly. 

“ Then, sir, even to the world^s end will I go with you.^^ 

Martin would have argued, have asked, but she would 
not listen to him. It was Maitre Garden who niade him 
understand the project. There was what in later times has 
been termed an underground railway amid the persecuted 
Calvinists, and M. Garden knew his ground well enough to 
have little doubt of being able to conduct the lady safely to 
some town on the coast, whence she might reach her friends 
in England. The plan highly satisfied Martin. It relieved 
him and his neighbors from the necessity of provoking 
perilous wrath, and it was far safer for herself than en- 


200 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


deavoring to force lier way with an escort too large not to 
attract notice, yet not warlike en^igh for efficient defense. 
He offered no further opposition, but augured that after 
all she would come hack a fine lady, and right them all. 

Eustacie, recovering from her anger, and recollecting 
his services, gave him her hand to kiss, and bade him fare- 
well with a sudden effusion of gratitude and affection that 
warmed the honest fellow ^s heart. Ee wards could not be 
given, lest they should become a clew for her uncle; and 
perhaps they would have wounded both him and their kind 
hosts, who did their best to assist her in their departure. 
A hasty meal was provided by Hanon, and a basket so 
stored as to obviate the need of entering a village, on that 
day at least, to purchase provisions; Eustacie ^s money and 
jewels again formed the nucleus of the bundle of clothes 
and spare swaddling-bands of her babe; her peasant dress 
was carefully arranged — a stout striped cloth skirt and 
black bodice, the latter covered by a scarlet Ohollet ker- 
chief. The winged white cap entirely hid her hair; a gray 
cloak with a hood could either fold round her and her child 
or be strapped on her shoulders. Her sabots were hung on 
her shoulder, for she had learned to go barefoot, and 
walked much more lightly thus; and her little bundle was 
slung on a staff on the back of Maitre Gardon, who in his 
great peasant's hat and coat looked so like a picture of St. 
Joseph, that Eustacie, as the light of the rising sun fell on 
his white beard and hair, was reminded of the Elight into 
Egypt, and came close to him, sa3fing shyly, ‘‘ Our Blessed 
Lady will bless and feel for my baby. She knows what 
this journey is."’^ 

‘‘ The Son of the Blessed Mary assuredly knows and 
blesses,^ ^ he answered. 

CHAPTEE XIX. 

LA RUE DES TROIS FEES. 

And round the baby fast apd close 
Her trembling grasp she folds, 

And with a strong convulsive grasp 
The little infant holds. 

Southey. 

A WILD storm had raged all the afternoon, hail and rain 
had careered on the wings of the wind along the narrow 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


201 


street of the Three rairie|, at the little Huguenot bourg of 
La Sablerie; torrents of rain had poached the unpaved soil 
into a depth of mud, and thunder had reverberated over the 
chimney-tops, and growled far away over the Atlantic, 
whose angry waves were tossing on the low sandy coast 
about two miles from the town. 

The evening had closed in with a chill, misty drizzle, 
and, almost May though it were, the Widow Noemi Lau- 
rent gladly closed the shutters of her unglazed window, 
where small cakes and other delicate confections were dis- 
played, and felt the genial warmth of the little fire with 
which she heated her tiny oven. She was the widow of a 
pastor who had suffered for his faith in the last open perse- 
cution, and being the daughter of a baker, the authorities 
of the town had permitted her to suppoi-t herself and her 
son by carrying on a trade in the more delicate “ subtil- 
ties of the art, which were greatly relished at the civic 
feasts. Noemi was a grave, sad woman, very lonely ever 
since she had saved enough to send her son to study for 
the ministry in Switzerland, and with an aching heart that 
longed to be at rest from the toil that she looked on as a 
steep ladder on her way to a better home. She occupied 
two tiny rooms on the ground-floor of a tall house; and she 
had just arranged her few articles of furniture with the 
utmost neatness, when there was a low knock at her door, 
a knock that the persecuted well understood, and as she 
lifted the latch, a voice she had known of old spoke the 
scriptural salutation, Peace be with this house. 

Eh quol, Master Isaac, is it thou? Come in — in a good 
hour — ah!^^ 

As, dripping all round his broad hat and from every 
thread of his gray mantle, the aged traveler drew into the 
house a female figure whom he had been supporting on his 
other arm, muffled head and shoulders in a soaked cloak, 
with a petticoat streaming with wet, and feet, and ankles 
covered with mire, ‘‘ Here we are, my child, he said ten- < 
derly, as he almost carried her to Noemi's chair. Noemi, 
with kind exclamations of La pauvre! la pauvrette 
helped the trembling cold hand to open the wet cloak, and 
then cried out with fresh surprise and pity at the sight of 
the fresh little infant face, nestled warm and snug under 
all the wrappings in those weary arms. 

‘‘ See,"^ said the poor wanderer, looking up to the old 


202 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


man, with a faint smile; “ she is well — she is warm — it 
hurts her not/ ^ • 

“ Can you take us in?^’ added M. Garden, hastily; 
‘‘ have you room?^^ 

“ Oh, yes; if you can sleep on the floor here, I will take 
this poor dear to my own bed directly, said Noemi. 
“ TeneZy^^ opening a chest; “you will find dry clothes 
there, of my husband’s. And thou,” helping Eustacie up 
with -her strong arm, and trying to take the little one, 
“ let me warm and dry thee within. ” 

Too much worn out to make resistance, almost past 
speaking, knowing merely that she had reached the goal 
that had been promised her throughout these weary days, 
feeling warmth, and hearing kind tones, Eustacie submitted 
to be led into the inner room; and when the good widow 
returned again, it was in haste to fetch some of the warm 
potage she had already been cooking over the fire, and 
hastily bade M. Garden help himself to the rest. She came 
back again with the babe, to wash and dress it in the 
warmth of her oven fire. Maitre Garden, in the black suit 
of a Calvinist pastor, had eaten his potage, and was anx- 
iously awaiting her report. Ah! la pauvre, with His bless- 
ing she will sleep; she will do well. But how far did you 
come to-day?” 

“ Erom Sainte Lucie. From the Grange du Temple 
since Monday. ” 

“Ah! is it possible? The poor child! And this little 
one — sure, it is scarce four weeks old?” 

“ Four weeks this coming Sunday.” 

“ Ah! the poor thing. The blessing of Heaven must 
have been with you to bear her through. And what a 
lovely infant — how white — what beauteous little limbs! 
Truly, she has sped well. Little did I think, good friend, 
that you had this comfort left, or that our poor Theodore’s 
young wife had escaped.” 

“ Alas! no, Noemi; this is no child of Theodore’s. His 
wife shared his martyrdom. It is I who am escaped alone 
to tell thee. But, nevertheless, this babe is an orphan of 
that same day. Her father was the son of the pious Baron 
de Eibaumont, the patron of your husband, and of myself 
in earlier days.” 

“Ah!” exclaimed Noemi, startled. “Then the poor 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 303 

young mother— is she— can she be the lost Demoiselle de 
Nid-de-Merle?^^ 

“ Is the thing known here? The will of Heaven be done; 
but I had trusted that here the poor child might rest a 
while, ere she can send to her husband^s kindred in Eng- 
land/ ^ ^ 

‘‘ She might rest safely enough, if others beside myself 
believed in her being your son^s widow,^^ said Neomi. 
“ Wherefore should she not be thought so?^^ 

‘‘ Poor Esperance! She would willingly have lent her 
name to guard another,^'' said Master Garden, thought- 
fully; ‘‘ and, for the sake of the child, my little lady may 
endure it. Ah! there is the making of a faithful and noble 
woman in that poor young thing. Bravely, patiently, 
cheerfully, hath she plodded this weary way; and, verily, 
she hath grown like my own daughter to me — as I never 
thought to love earthly thing again; and had this been in- 
deed my Theodore^s child, I could hardly care for it more.^^ 

And as he related how he had fallen in with the forlorn 
Lady of Pibaumont, and all that she had dared, done, and 
left undone for the sake of her little daughter, good Noemi 
Laurent wept, and agreed with him that a special Provi- 
dence must have directed them to his care, and that some 
good work must await one who had been carried through 
so much. His project was to remain here for a short time, 
to visit the flock who had lost their pastor on the day of 
the massacre, and to recruit his own strength; for he, too, 
had suffered severely from the long traveling, and the ex- 
posure during many nights, especially since all that was 
warm and sheltered had been devoted to Eustacie. And 
after this he proposed to go to La Rochelle, and make in- 
quiries for a trusty messenger who could be sent to Eng- 
land to seek out the family of the Baron de Ribaumont, or, 
mayhap, a sufficient escort with whom the lady could travel 
though he had nearly made up his mind that he would not 
relinquish the care of her until he had safely delivered her 
to her husband^’s mother. 

Health and life were very vigorous in Eustacie; and 
though at first she had been completely worn out, a few 
days of comfort, entire rest, and good nursing restored her. 
Hoemi dressed her much like herself, in a black gown, 
prim little white starched ruff, and white cap — a thorough 
Calvinist dress, and befitting a minister's widow, Eustacie 


204 


THE CHAPLET OE PEARLS. 


winced a little at hearing of the character that had been 
fastened upon her; she disliked for her child, still more 
than for herself, to take this hoiirgeois nMinQ ot Garden; 
but there was no help for it, since, though the chief per- 
sonages of the town were Huguenot, there could be no safety 
for her if the report were once allowed to arise that the Ba- 
ronne de Eibaumont had taken refuge there. 

It was best that she should be as little noticed as possible; 
nor, indeed, had good Noemi many visitors. The sad and 
sorrowful woman had always shut herself up with her 
Bible and her meditations, and sought no sympathy from 
her neighbors, nor encouraged gossip in her shop. In the 
first days, when purchasers lingered to ask if it were true 
that Maitre Garden had brought liis daughter-in-law and 
grandchild, her stern-faced, almost grim answer, that 

la paiivre was ill at ease,” silenced them, and forced 
them to carry off their curiosity unsatisfied; but it became 
less easy to arrange when Eustacie herself was on foot 
again — refreshed, active, and with an irrepressible spring 
of energy and eagerness that could hardly be caged down 
in the Widow Laurent ^s tiny rooms. Poor child, had she 
not been ill and prostrate at first, and fastened herself on 
the tender side of the good woman^s heart by the sweet- 
ness of an unselfish and buoyant nature in illness, Noemi 
could hardly have endured such an inmate, not even half 
a Huguenot, full of little Catholic observances like second 
nature to her; listening indeed to the Bible for a short 
time, but always, when it was expounded, either asleep, or 
finding some amusement, indispensable for her baby; eager 
for the least variety, and above all spoiled by Maitre Gar- 
don to a degree absolutely perplexing to the grave woman. 

He would not bid her lay aside the observances that, to 
Noemi, seemed almost worship of the beast. He rather re- 
verted to the piety which originated them; and argued with 
his old friend that it was better to build than to destroy, 
and that, before the fabric of truth, superstition would 
crumble away of itself. The little he taught her sounded 
to Noemi^s puzzled ears mere Christianity instead of con- 
troversial Calvinism. And, moreover, he never blamed 
her for wicked worldliness when she yawned; but even de- 
vised opportunities for taking her out for a walk, to see as 
much life as might be on a market-day. He could certainly 
not forget— as much as would have been prudent — that 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


205 


she was a high-born lady; and even seemed taken aback 
when he found her with her sleeves turned up over her 
shapely delicate arms, and a thick apron before her, with 
her hands in Veuve Laurent ^s flour, showing her some of 
those special mysterious arts of confectionery in which she 
had been inflated by Sceur Bernardine, when, not three 
years ago, she had been the pet of the convent at Bellaise. 
At flrst it was half sport and the desire of occupation, but 
the produce of her manipulations was so excellent as to ex- 
cite quite a sensation in La Sablerie, and the echevins and 
baillis sent in quite considerable orders for the cakes and 
patties of Maitre Gardon^s Paris-bred daughter-in-law. 

Maitre Garden hesitated. Noemi Laurent told him she 
cared little for the gain-^Heaven knew it was nothing to 
her — but that she thought it wrong and inconsistent in him 
to wish to spare the poor child^s pride, which was uncliris- 
tian enough already. “ Nay,^^ he said sadly, ‘‘ mortifica- 
tions from without do little to tame pride; nor did I mean 
to bring her here that she should turn cook and confec- 
tioner to pamper the appetite of Bailli La Grasse. 

But Eustacie^s first view was a bright pleasure in the tri- 
umph of her skill; and when her considerate guardian en- 
deavored to impress on her that there was no Tiecessity for 
vexing herself with the task, she turned round on him witli 
the exclamation, ‘‘Nay, dear father, do you not see it is 
my great satisfaction to be able to do sometliing for our 
good hostess, so that my daughter and I be not a burden to 
her?'’^ 

“ Well spoken, my lady,^^ said the pastor; “ there is real 
nobility in that way of thinking. Yet, remember, Noemi 
is not without means; she feels not the burden. And the 
flock contribute enough for the shepherd^s support, and 
yours likewise. 

“ Then let her give it to the poor creatures who so often 
come in begging, and saying they have been burned out of 
house and home by one party or the other, said Eustacie. 
“ Let me have my way, dear sir; Sceur Bernartoe always 
said I should be a prime menaghre. I like it so much. " 

And Mme. de Ribaumont mixed sugar and dough, and 
twisted quaint shapes, and felt important and almost light- 
hearted, and sung over her work and over her child songs 
that were not always Marot^s psalms; and that gave the 
more umbrage to Noemi, because she feared that Maitre 


20G 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


Giirdon actually liked to hear them, though, should their 
echo reach the street, why it would be a peril, and still 
worse, a horrible scandal that out of that sober, afflicted 
household should proceed profane tunes such as court ladies 
sung. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE ABBE. 

By day and night her sorrows fall 
Where miscreant hands and rude 
Have stained her pure, ethereal pall 
With many a martyr’s blood. 

And yearns not her maternal heart 
To hear their secret sighs, 

Upon whose doubting way apart 
Bewildering shadows rise? 

Keble. 

It was in the summer twilight that Eustacie, sitting on 
the doorstep between the two rooms, with her baby on her 
knees, was dreamily humming to her a tune, without even 
words, but one that she loved, because she had first learned 
•to sing it with Berenger and his friend Sidney to the lute of 
the latter; and its notes always brought before her eyes the 
woods of Montpipeau. Then it was that, low and soft as 
was the voice, that befell which Xoemi had feared : a worn, 
ragged-looking young man, who had been bargaining at the 
door for a morsel of bread in exchange for a handkerchief, 
started at the sound, and moved so as to look into the 
house. 

Noemi was at the moment not attending, being absorbed 
in the study of the handkerchief, which was of such fine, 
delicate texture that an idea of its having been stolen 
jiossessed her; and she sought the corner where, as she ex- 
pected, a coat of arms was embroidered. Just as she was 
looking up to demand explanation, the stranger, with a 
sudden cry of “ Good heavens, ifc is she!” pushed past her 
into the house, and falling on his knee before Eustacie, ex- 
claimed, “ 0 lady, lady! is it thus that I see you?” 

Eustacie had started up in dismay, crying out, “ Ah! 
Monsieur PAbbe, as you are a gentleman, betray me not. 
Oh! have they sent you to find me? Have pity on us! You 
loved my husband!^' 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


207 


“You have nothing to fear from me, lady/ ^ said the 
young man, still kneeling; “ if you are indeed a distressed 
fugitive — so am I. If you have shelter and friends — I have 
none. 

“Is it indeed so?^^ said Eustacie, wistfully, yet scarce 
reassured. “ You are truly not come from my uncle. In- 
deed, monsieur, I would not doubt you, but you see I have 
so much at stake. I have my little one here, and they mean 
so cruelly by her. 

“ Madame, I swear by the honor of a nobleman — nay, 
by all that is sacred — that I know nothing of your uncle. 
I have been a wanderer for many weeks past; proscribed 
and hunted down because I wished to seek into the truth. 

“Ah!^^ said Eustacie, with a sound of relief, and of 
apology, “ pardon me, sir; indeed, I know you were good. 
You loved my husband and she reached out her hand to 
raise him, when he kissed it reverently. Little hourgeoise 
and worn mendicant as they were in dress, the air of the 
Louvre breathed round them; and there was all its grace 
and dignity as the lady turned round to her astonished 
hosts, saying, “ Good sir, kind mother, this gentleman is, 
indeed, what you took me for, a fugitive for the truth. 
Permit me to present to you Monsieur PAbbe de Mericour 
— at least, so he was, when last I had the honor to see him. 

The last time he had seen her, poor Eustacie had been 
incapable of seeing anything save that bloody pool at the 
foot of the stairs. 

Mericour now turned and explained. “ Good friends,^' 
he said courteously, but with the fierete of the noble not 
quite out of his tone, “ I beg your grace. I would not have 
used so little ceremony, if I had not been out of myself at 
recognizing a voice and a tune that could belong to none 
but Madame — 

“ Sit down, sii,^^ said Noemi, a little coldly and stiffly — 
for Mericour was a terrible name to Huguenot ears; “ a 
true friend to this lady must needs be welcome, above all if 
he comes in Heaven^ s name. 

“ Sit dovn and eat, sir,^^ added Garden, much more 
heartily; “ and forgive us for not having been more lios- 
pitable — ^but the times have taught us to be cautious, and 
in that lady ve have a precious charge. Eest; for you look 
both weary and hungry. “ 

Eustacie abided an invitation, understanding that he 


208 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


would not sit without her permission, and then, as he 
dropped into a chair, she exclaimed, “All! sir, you are 
faint, but you are famished. 

“ It will pass,^^ he said; “ I have not eaten to-day.'’^ 

Instantly a meal was set before him, and ere long he re- 
vived; and as the shutters were closed, and shelter for the 
night promised to him by a Huguenot family lodging in the 
same house, he began to answer Eustacie^s anxious ques- 
tions, as well as to learn from her in return what had 
brought her into her present situation. 

Then it was that she recollected that it had been he who, 
at her cousin Diane’s call, had seized her when she was 
rushing out of the palace in her first frenzy of grief, and 
had carried her back to the women’s apartments. 

“ It was that day which brought me here,” he said. 

And he told how, bred up in his own distant province, by 
a pious and excellent tutoi-, he had devoutly believed in the 
extreme wickedness of the Reformers; but in his seclusion 
he had been trained to such purity of faith and morals, 
that, when his brother summoned him to court to solicit a 
benefice, he had been appalled at the aspect of vice, and 
had, at the same time, been struck by the pure lives of the 
Huguenots; for truly, as tilings then were at the Erench 
court, crime seemed to have arrayed itself on the side of 
the orthodox party, all virtue on that of the schismatics. 

De Mericour consulted spiritual advisers, who told him 
that none but Catholics could be truly holy, and that what 
he admired were merely heathen virtues that the devil per- 
mitted the Huguenots to display in order to delude the un- 
wary. With this explanation he had striven to be satisfied, 
though eyes unblinded by guilt and a pure heart continued 
to be revolted at the practices which liis Church, scared at 
the evil times, and forgetful of her own true streigth, left 
undenounced in her jiartisans. And the more that the 
Huguenot gentlemen thronged the court, and the young 
abbe was thrown into intercourse with them, the more he 
perplexed himself how the truth, the faith, the uprightness, 
the forbearance, the purity that they evinced, c^uld indeed 
be wanting in the zeal that made them acceptalDle. Then 
came the frightful morning when carnage reigjied in every 
street, and the men who had been treated as fevorite boon 
compani?)ns were hunted down like wild be^ts in every 
street. He had endeavored to save life, but would have 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


209 


speedily been slaughtered himself except for his soutane; 
and in all good faith he had hurried to the Louvre, to in- 
form royalty of the horrors that, as he thought, a fanatic 
passion was causing the populace to commit. 

He found the palace become shambles— the king himself, 
wrought up to frenzy, firing on the fugitives. And the next 
day, while his brain still seemed frozen with horror, he was 
called on to join in the procession of thanksgiving for the 
king^s deliverance from a dangerous plot. Surely, if the plot 
were genuine, he thought, the procession should have savored 
of penance and humiliation rather than of barbarous exulta- 
tion! Yet these might be only the individual crimes of the 
queen-mother, and of the Guises seeking to mask them- 
selves under the semblance of zeal; and the infallible head 
of the visible Church would disown the slaughter, and cast 
it from the Church with loathing as a blood-stained gar- 
ment. Behold, Rome was full of rejoicing, and sent sanc- 
tion and commendation of the pious zeal of the king! Had 
the voice of Holy Church become indeed as the voice of a 
blood-hound? Was this indeed her call? 

The young man, whose life from infancy had been 
marked out for the service of the Church — so destined by 
his parents as securing a wealthy provision for a younger 
son, but educated by his good tutor with more real sense of 
his obligations — ^felt the question in its full import. He was 
under no vows; he had, indeed, received the tonsure, but 
was otherwise unpledged, and he was bent on proving all 
things. The gayeties in which he had at first mingled had 
become abhorrent to him, and he studied with the earnest- 
ness of a newly awakened mind in search of true light. 
The very fact of study and inquiry, in one of such a family 
as that of liis brother the Duke de Mericour, was enough to 
excite suspicion of Huguenot inclinations. The elder 
brother tried to quash the folly of the younger, by insisting 
on his sharing the debaucheries which, whether as priest or 
monk, or simply as Christian man, it would be his duty to 
abjure; and at length, by way of bringing things to a test, 
insisted on his making one of a party who were about to 
break up and destroy a Huguenot assembly. Unable, in 
his present mood, to endure the thought of further cruelty, 
the young abbe fled, gave secret warning to the endangered 
congregation, and hastened to the old castle in Brittany, 
where he had been brought up, to pour out his perplexities. 


310 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAIILS. 


and seek the counsel of the good old chaplain who had edu- 
cated him. Whether the kind, learned, simple-hearted 
tutor could have settled his mind, he had no time to dis- 
cover, for he had scarcely unfolded his troubles before warn- 
ings came down that he had better secure himself — his 
brother, as head of the family, had obtained the royal 
assent to the imprisonment of the rebellious junior, so as 
to bring him to a better mmd, and cure him of the 
Huguenot inclinations, which in the poor lad were simply 
undeveloped. But in all Catholic eyes, he was a tainted 
man, and his almost inevitable course was to take refuge 
with some Huguenot relations. There he was eagerly wel- 
comed;^ instruction was poured in on him; but as he showed 
a disposition to inquire and examine, and needed time to 
look into what they taught him, as one who feared to break 
his link with the Church, and still longed to find her blame- 
less and glorious, the righteous nation that keepeth the 
truth, they turned on him and regarded him as a traitor 
and a spy, who had come among them on false pretenses. 

All the poor lad wanted was time to think, time to ex- 
amine, time to consult authorities, living and dead. The 
Catholics called this treason to the Church, the Huguenots 
called it halting between two opinions; and between them 
he was a proscribed, distrusted vagabond, branded on one 
side as a recreant, and on the other as a traitor. He had 
asked for a few months of quiet, and where could they be 
had? His grandmother had been the daughter of a Scottish 
nobleman in the French service, and he had once seen a 
nephew of hers who had come to Paris during the time of 
Queen Mary^s residence there. He imagined that if he were 
once out of tliis distracted land of France, he might find 
respite for study, for which he longed; and utterly ignorant 
of the real state of Scotland, he had determined to make 
liis way to his kindred there; and he had struggled on the 
way to La Rochelle, cheated out of the small remains of 
his money, selling his last jewels and all the clothing that 
was not indispensable, and becoming so utterly unable to 
pay his passage to England, that he could only trust to 
Providence to find him some means of reaching liis present 
goal. 

He had been listened to with kindness, and a sympathy 
such as M. Gardon’s large mind enabled him to bestow, 
where his brethren had been incapable of comprehending 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


311 


that a man could sincerely doubt between them and Rome. 
When the history was finished, Eustacie exclaimed, turn- 
ing to Maitre Gardon, “Ah! sir, is not this just what we 
sought? If this gentleman would but convey a letter to 
my mother-in-law — 

M. Gardon smiled. “ Scotland and England are by no 
means the same place, lady, he said. 

“ Whatever this lady would command, wherever she 
would send me, I am at her service,^' cried the abbe, 
fervently. 

And, after a little further debate, it was decided that it 
might really be the best course, for him as well as for Mme. 
de Ribaumont, to become the bearer of a letter and token 
from her, entreating her mother-in-law to notify her pleas- 
ure whether she would bring her child to England. She 
had means enough to advance a sufficient sum to pay Meri- 
cour^s passage, and he accepted it most punctiliously as a 
loan, intending, so soon as her dispatches were ready, to go 
on to La Rochelle, and make inquiry for a ship. 

Chance, however, seemed imusually propitious, for the 
next day there was an ap>parition in the streets of La Sablerie 
of four or five weather-beaten, rolhcking-looking men, their 
dress profusely adorned with ribbons, and their language 
full of strange oaths. They were well known at La Sablerie 
as sailors belonging to a ship of the fleet of the Count de 
Montgomery, the unfortunate knight whose lance had caused 
the death of King Henry II. , and who, proscribed by the 
mortal hatred of Catherine de Medici, had become the ad- 
miral of a piratical fleet in the Calvinist interest, so far 
winked at by Queen Elizabeth that it had its head-quarters 
in the Channel Islands, and thence was a most formidable 
foe to merchant vessels on the northern and eastern coasts 
of France; and often indulged in descents on the coast, 
when the sailors — ^being in general the scum of the nation 
— were apt to comport themselves more like American 
buccaneers than like champions of any form of religion. 

La Sablerie was a Huguenot town, so they used no vio- 
lence, but only swaggered about, demanding from Bailli La 
Grasse, in the name of their gallant Captain Latouche, 
contributions and provisions, and giving him to understand 
that if he did not comply to the uttermost it should be the 
worse for him. Their ship; it appeared, had been forced to 
put into the harbor, about two miles off, and Maitre Gardo» 


212 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


and the young abbe decided on walking thither to see it, 
and to have an interview with the captain, so as to secure a 
passage for Mericour at least. Indeed, Maitre Garden had, 
in consultation with Eustacie, resolved, if he found things 
suitable, to aKrange for their all going together. She would 
be far safer out of France; and, although the abbe alone 
could not have escorted her, yet Maitre Garden would 
gladly have secured for her the additional protection of a 
young, strong, and spirited man; and Eustacie, who was no 
scribe, was absolutely relieved to have the voyage set before 
her as an alternative to the dreadful operation of compos- 
ing a letter to the belle-mere, whom she had not seen since 
she had been seven years old, and of whose present English 
name she had the most indistinct ideas. 

However, the first sight of the ship overthrew all such 
ideas. It was a wretched single-decked vessel, carrying far 
more sail than experienced nautical eyes would have 
deemed safe, and with no accommodation fit for a woman 
and child, even had the aspect of captain or crew been more 
satisfactory — for the ruffianly appearance and language of 
the former fully rivaled that of his sailors. It would have 
been mere madness to think of trusting the lady in such 
hands; and, without a word to each other. Garden and 
Mericour resolved to give no hint even that she and her 
jewels were in La Sablerie. Mericour, however, made his 
bargain with the captain, who undertook to transport him 
as far as Guernsey, whence he might easily make his way 
to Dorsetshire, where M. Garden knew that Berenger^s 
English home had been. 

So Eustacie, with no small trouble and consideration, in- 
dited her letter — telling of her escape, the birth of her 
daughter, the dangers that threatened her child — and beg- 
ging that its grandmother would give it a safe home in Eng- 
land, and love it for the sake of its father. An answer 
would find her at the widow Noemi Laurent^ s. Hue des 
Trois Fees, La Sablerie. She could not bring herself to 
speak of the name of Esperance Gardon which had been 
saddled upon her; and even M. de Mericour remained in 
ignorance of her bearing this disguise. She recommended 
him to the kindness of her mother-in-law; and M. Gardon 
added another letter to the lady, on behalf of the charge to 
whom he promised to devote .himself imtil he should see 
them safe in friendly hands. Both letters were addressed. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


213 


as best they might be, between Eustacie's dim comprehen- 
sion of the word Thistlewood, and M. Gardon^s notion of 
spelling. ‘ ‘ J adis, Baronne de Ribaumont, ^ ^ was the securest 
part of the direction. 

And for a token, Eustacie looked over her jewels to find 
one that would serve for a token; but the only ones she 
knew would be recognized, were the brooch that had 
fastened the plume in Berenger’s bloody cap, and the 
chaplet of pearls. To part with the first, or to risk the 
second m the pirate-ship, was impossible, but Eustacie at 
last decided upon detaching the pear-shaped pearl which 
was nearest the clasp,. and which was so remarkable in 
form and tint that there was no doubt of its being well 
known. 


CHAPTER XXL 

UNDER THE WALNUT-TREE. 

“ Mistress Jean was making the elder- flower wine — 

‘ And what brings the Laird at sic a like time?’ ” 

Lady Nairn, The Laird of Gockpen. 

Summer was nearly ended, and Lucy Thistlewood was 
presiding m the great kitchen of the manor-house, standing 
under the latticed window near the large oak-table, a white 
apron over her dress, presiding over the collecting of elder- 
berries for the brew of household-wine for the winter. The 
maids stood round her with an array of beechen bowls or 
red and yellow crocks, while barefooted, bareheaded chil- 
dren came thronging in with rush or wicker baskets of the 
crimson fruit, which the maids poured in sanguine cascades 
into their earthenware; and Lucy requited with substantial 
slices of bread and cheese, and stout homely garments 
mostly of her own sewing. 

Lucy w^as altogether an inmate of her father ^s house. 
She had not even been at Hurst Walwyn for many months; 
for her step-mother^s reiterated hopes that Berenger would 
make her his consolation for all he had suffered from his 
French spouse rendered it impossible to her to iheet him 
with sisterly unconsciousness; and she therefore kept out of 
the way, and made herself so useful at home, that Dame 
Annora only wondered how it had been possible to spare 
her so long, and always wound up her praises by saying, 


214 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


that Berenger would learn in time how lucky he had been 
to lose the French puppet, and win the good English 
housewife. 

If only tidings would have come that the puppet was safe 
married. That was the crisis which all the family desired 
yet feared for Berenger, since nothing else they saw would 
so detach his thoughts from the past as to leave him free to 
begin life again. The relapse brought on by the cruel reply 
to Osbert’s message had been very formidable: he was long 
insensible or delirious, and then came a state of annihilated 
thought, then of frightfully sensitive organs, when light, 
sound, movement, or scent was alike agony; and when he 
slowly revived, it was with such sunken spirits, that his 
silence was as much from depression as from difficulty of 
speech. His brain was weak, his limbs feeble, the wound 
in his mouth never painless; and all this necessarily added 
to his listless indifference and weariness, as though all 
youthful hope and pleasure were extinct in him. He had 
ceased to refer to the past. Perhaps he had thought it 
over, and seen that the deferred escape, the request for the 
2 )carls, the tryst at the palace, and the detention from the 
king^s chamber, made an uglier case against Eustacie 
than he could endure to own even to himself. If his 
heart trusted, his mind could not argue out her defense, 
and his tongue would not serve him for discussion with 
his grandfather, the only person who could act for liim. 
Perhaps the stunned condition of his mind made the sus- 
pense just within the bounds of endurance, while trust in 
his wife^s innocence rendered his inability to come to her 
aid well-nigh intolerable; and doubt of her seemed both 
profanity and miseiy unspeakable. He could do nothing. 

1 le had shot his only shaft by sending Landry Osbert, and 
had found that to endeavor to induce liis grandfather to 
use further measures was worse than useless, and was 
treated as mere infatuation. He knew that all he had to 
do was to endeavor for what patience he could win from 
Cecily^s sweet influence and guidance, and to wait till 
cither certainty should come — that dreadful, miserable cer- 
tainty that all looked for, and his very helplessness might 
be bringing about — or till he should regain strength to be 
again effective. 

And miserably slow work was this recovery. No one 
had surgical skill to deal with so severe a wound as that 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


215 


which Narcisse had inflicted; and the daily pain and in-^ 
convenience it caused led to innumerable drawbacks that 
often — even after he had come - as far as the garden — 
brought liim back to his bed in a dark room, to blood-let- 
ting, and to speechlessness. No one knew much of his 
mind — Cecily perhaps the most; and next to her, Philii)-r- 
who, from the time he had been admitted to his step-broth- 
er^s presence, had been most assiduous in tending him — 
seemed to understand his least sign, and to lay aside all his 
boisterous roughness in his eager desire to do him service. 
The lads had loved each other from the moment they had 
met as children, but never so apparently as now, when all 
the rude horse-play of healthy youths was over — and one 
was dependent, the other considerate. And if Berengfer 
had made no one else believe in Eustaci'e, he had taught 
Philip to view her as the “ queen ^s men viewed Mary of 
Scotland. Philip had told Lucy the rough but wholesome 
truth, that “ Mother talks mere folly. Eustacie is no 
more to be spoken of with you than a pheasant with old 
brown Partlet; and Berry waits but to be well to bring her 
off from all her foes. And 1^11 go with him. 

It was on Philipps arm that Berenger first crept round 
the bowling-green, and with Philip at his rein that he first 
endured to ride along the avenue on Lord Walwyn^s smooth- 
paced palfrey; and it was Pliilip who interrupted Lucy^s 
household cares by rushing in and shouting, “ Sister, here! 
I have wiled him to* ride over the down, and he is sitting 
under the walnut-tree quite spent, and the three little 
wenches are standing in a row, weeping like so many little 
mermaids. Come, I say!^^ 

Lucy at once followed him through the house, through 
the deep porch to the court, which was shaded by a noble 
walnut-tree, where Sir Marmaduke loved to sit among his 
dogs. There now sat Berenger, resting against the trunk, 
overcome by the heat and exertion of his ride. His cloak 
and hat lay on the ground; the dogs fawned round him, 
eager for the wonted caress, and his three little sisters stood 
a little aloof, clinging to one another and crying piteously. 

It was their first sight of him; and it seemed to them as 
if he were behind a frightful mask. Even Lucy was not 
without a sensation of the kind, of this effect in the change 
from the girlish, rosy complexion to extreme paleness, on 
which was visible, in ghastly red and purple, the great scar 


216 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


left by Narcisse, from the temple on the one side to the ear 
on the other. 

The far jiiore serious -wound on the cheek was covered 
with a black patch, and the hair had almost entirely disap- 
peared from the head, only a few light brown locks still 
hanging round the neck and temples, so that the bald row 
gave a strange look of age; and the disfigurement was ter- 
rible, enhanced as it was by the wasting effect of nearly a 
year of sickness. Lucy was so much shocked, that she 
could hardly steady her voice to chide the children for not 
giving a better welcome to their brother. They would 
have clung round her, but she shook them off, and sent 
Annora in haste for her mother '’s fan; while Lhilip arriv- 
ing with a slice of diet-bread and a cup of sack, the one 
fanned him, and the other fed him with morsels of the 
cake soaked in the wine, till he revived, looked up with 
eyes that were unchanged, and thanked them with a few 
faltering words, scarcely intelligible to Lucy. The little 
girls came nearer, and curiously regarded him; but when he 
held out his hand to his favorite Dolly, she shrunk back in 
reluctance. 

“ Do not chide her,^^ he said wearily. “ May she never 
become used to such marks 

‘‘ What, would you have her live among cowards?^^ ex- 
claimed Philip; but Berenger, instead of answering, looked 
up at the front of the house, one of those fine Tudor fa9ades 
that seem all carved timber and glass lattice, and asked, so 
abruptly that Lucy doubted whether she heard him aright 
— “ How many windows are there in this front?^^ 

‘‘ I never counted, said Pmlip. 

‘‘I have,^^ said Annora; ‘‘there are seven-and- thirty, 
besides the two little ones in the porch. 

“ None shall make them afraid, he muttered. “ Who 
would dare build such a defenseless house over yonder — 
pointing south. 

“Our hearts are guards now,” said Philip, proudly. 
Berenger half smiled, as he was wont to do when he meant 
more than he could conveniently utter, and presently he 
asked, in the same languid, musing tone, “ Lucy, were you 
ever really affrighted?” 

Lucy questioned whether he could be really in his right 
mind, as if the bewilderment of his brain was again return- 
ing; and while slie paused, Annora exclaimed, “ Yes, when 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


217 


we were gathermg cowslips, and the brindled cow ran at us, 
and Lucy could not run because she had Dolly in her 
arms. Oh! we were frightened then, till you came, 
brother. ” 

“ Yes, added Bessie; ‘‘and last winter too, when the 
owl shrieked at the window — ^ 

“ And,^^ added Berenger, “ sister, what was your great- 
est time of revelry?’ ’ 

Annora again put in her word. “ I know, brother; you 
remember the fair day, when my Lady Grandame was 
angered because you and Lucy went on dancing when we 
and all the gentry had ceased. And when Lucy said she 
had not seen that you were left alone. Aunt Cecily said it 
was because the eyes of discretion were lacking. ” 

“ Oh, the Christmas feast was far grander,” said Bessie. 
“ Then Lucy had her •first satin farthingale, and three 
gallants, besides my brother, wanted to dance with her. ” 
Blushing deeply, Lucy tried to hush the little ones, much 
perplexed by the questions, and confused by the answers. 
Could he be contrasting the life where a vicious cow had 
been the most alarming object, a greensward dance with a 
step-brother the greatest gayety, the dye of the elder juice 
the deepest stain, with the temptations and perils that had 
beset one equally young? Resting his head on his hand, 
his elbow on his knee, he seemed to be musing in a reverie 
that he could hardly brook, as his young brow was knitted 
by care and despondency. 

Suddenly, the sounds in the village rose from the quiet 
sleepy summer hum into a fierce yell of derisive vitupera- 
tion, causing Philip at once to leap up, and run across the 
court to the entrance-gate, while Lucy called after him 
some vain sisterly warning against mingling in a fray. 

It seemed as if his interposition had a good effect, for the 
uproar lulled almost as soon as he had hurried to the scene 
of action; and presently he reappeared, eager and breath- 
less. “I told them to bring him up here,” be said; 
“ they would have fiogged liim at the cart’s- tail, the 
rogues, just because my father is out of the way. I could 
not make out his jargon, but you can, brother; and make 
that rascal Spinks let him go. ” 

“What should I have to do with it?” said Berenger, 
shrinking from the sudden exposure of his scarred face and 
maimed speech. “ I am no magistrate.” 


218 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


“ But you can understand him; he is French, the poor 
rogue — ^yes, French, I tell you! He shrieked out piteously 
to me something about a letter, and wanting to ask his way. 
Ah! I thought that would touch you, and it will cost you 
little pains,^’ added Philip, as Berenger snatched up his 
broad Spanish hat, and slouching it over his face, rose, 
and-, leaning upon Annora^s shoulder, stepped forward, just 
as the big burly blacksmith-constable and small shriveled 
cobbler ^vanced, dragging along, by a cord round the 
wrists, a slight figure with a red woolen sailor^s shirt, 
ragged black hosen, bare head, and almost bare feet. 

Doffing their caps, the men Ijegan an awkward salutation 
to the young lord on his recovery, but he only touched his 
beaver in return, and demanded, “ How now! what have 
you bound him for?" 

‘‘ You see, my lord,-’*’ began the constable, “ there have 
been a sort of vagrants of late, and I fil be bound ^twas no 
four-legged fox as took Gaffer Shepherd^s lamb.^^ 

The peroration was broken off, for with a start as if he 
had been shot, Berenger cried out, “ Mericour! the abbe!^^ 
Ah, monsieur, if you know me,^-’ cried the young man, 
raising his head, “ free me from this shame — aid me in my 
mission!" 

‘‘Loose him, fellows,^ ’ shouted Berenger; “Philip, a 
knife — Lucy, those scissors. 

• “ ^Tis my duty, my lord,^^ said Spinks gruffly. “ All 
vagabonds to be apprehended and flogged at the cart^s-tail, 
by her Grace ^s special commands. How is it to be an- 
swered to his honor. Sir Marmaduke?^^ 

“Oaf!^^ cried Philip, “you durst not have used such 
violence had my father been at home! DonT you see my 
brother knows him?" 

With hands trembling with haste, Berenger had seized 
the scissors that, housewife-like, hung at Lucy^s waist, 
and was cutting the rope, exclaiming in French, “ Pardon, 
pardon, friend, for so shameful a reception. 

“ Sir,^-’ was the reply, without a sign of recognition, 
“ if, indeed, you know my name, I entreat you to direct 
me to the chateau of Le Sieur Tistefote, whose lady was 
once Baronne de Ribaumont.-’^ 

“ My mother! Ah, my friend, my friend! what would 
you?'" he cried in a tone of tremulous hope and fear, laying 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


219 


one hand on Mericour’s shoulder, and about to embrace 
him. 

Mericour retreated from the embrace with surprise and 
almost horror. “Is it indeed you, Monsieur le Baron? 
But no, my message is to no such person. 

“A message— from her— speak gasped Berenger, 
starting forward as though to rend it from him; but the 
high-spirited young man crossed his arms on his breast, 
and gazing at the group with indignant scorn, made an- 
swer, “ My message is from her who deems herself a widow, 
to the mother of the husband whom she little imagines to 
be not only alive, but consoled.^*’ 

“ Faithful! faithful! burst out Berenger, with a wild, 
exultant, strangely ringing shout. “Woe, woe to those 
who would have had me doubt her! Philip — Lucy — hear! 
Her truth is clear to all the world !^^ Then changing back 
again to French, “ Ten thousand blessings on you, Meri- 
cour! You have seen her! Where — how?^"' 

Mericour still spoke with frigid politeness. “ I had the. 
honor to part with Madame la Baronne de Ribaumont in 
the town of La Sablerie, among humble. Huguenot guard- 
ians, to whom she had fled, to save her infantas life — 
when no aid came.^^ 

He was obliged to break off, for Berenger, stunned by 
the sudden rush of emotion, reeled as he stood, and would 
have fallen but for the prompt support of Lucy, who was 
near enough to guide him back to rest upon the bench, say- 
ing resentfully in French as he did so, ‘^My brother is still 
very ill. I pray you, sir, have a care.■’^ 

She had not half understood the rapid words of the two 
young men, Philip comprehended them far less, and the 
constable and his crew of course not at all; and Spinks 
pushed forward among the group as he saw Berenger sink 
back on the bench; and once more collaring his prisoner, 
exclaimed, almost angrily to Philip, “ There now, sir, 
you^’ve had enough of the vagabond. W eTl keep him tight 
ere he bewitches any more of you.'’^ 

This rude interference proved an instant restorative. 
Berenger sprung up at once, and seizing Spinks '’s arm, 
exclaimed, “ Hands off, fellow! This is my friend — a gen- 
tleman. He brings me tidings of infinite gladness. Who 
insults him, insults me. ” 

Spinks scarcely withdrew his hand from Mericour^s neck; 


220 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


and scowling said, “ Very odd gentleman — ^very queer tid- 
ings, Master Berenger, to fell you like an ox. I must be 
answerable for the fellow till his honor comes. 

“^Ah! Ml quoi, wherefore not show the canaille your 
sword said Mericour, impatiently. 

‘‘ It may not be seen here, in England, said Berenger 
(who fortunately was not wearing his weapon). “ And in 
good time here comes my step-father,^^ as the gate swung 
back, and Sir Marmaduke and Lady Thistlewood rode 
through it, the former sending his voice far before him to 
demand the meaning of the hurly-burly that filled his court. 

Philip was the first to spring to his rein, exclaiming, 
“Father, it is a Frenchman whom Spinks would have 
flogged at the carPs-tail; but it seems he is a friend of Ber- 
enger^s, and has brought him tidings. I know not what — 
about his wife, I believe — any way he is beside himself with 
joy/" 

“ Sir, your honor, shouted Spinks, again seizing Meri- 
cour, and striving to drag him forward, “ I would know 
whether the law is to be hindered from taking its course be- 
cause my young lord there is a Frenchman and bewitched.-’^ 

“ Ah,^^ shrieked Lady Thistlewood, “ I knew it. They 
will have sent secret poison to finish him. Keep the fellow 
safe. He will cast it in the air. 

“ Ay, ay, my lady,^^ said Spinks, “ there are plenty of 
us to testify that he made my young lord fall back as in a 
swoon, and reel like one distraught. Pray Heaven it have 
not gone further. 

“ Sir,^^ exclaimed Berenger, who on the other side held 
his friend ^s hand tight, “ this is a noble gentleman — the 
brother of the Duke de Mericour. He has come at great 
risk to bring me tidings of my dear and true wife. And 
not one word will these demented rascals let me hear with 
their senseless clamor. 

“ Berenger! You here, my boy!^^ exclaimed Sir Mar- 
maduke, more amazed by this than all the rest. 

“He touches him — ^he holds him! Ah! will no one tear 
him away?^^ screamed Lady Thistlewood. Nor would 
Spinks have been slow in obeying her if Sir Marmaduke 
had not swung his substantial form to the ground, and 
stepping up to the prisoner, rudely clawed on one side by 
Spinks, and affectionately grasped on the other side by 
Berenger, shouted — 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


* 221 


* Let go, both! Does he speak English? Peace, dame! 
If the lad be bewitched, it is the right way. He looks like 
another man. Eh, lad, what does your 'friend say for him- 
self?^ ^ 

“ Sir,^^ said Berenger, interpreting Mericour^s words as 
they were spoken, “ he has been robbed and misused at sea 
by Montgomery's pirate crews. He fled from court for the 
religion ^s^ sake; he met her — my wife (the voice was 
scarcely intelligible, so tremulously was it spoken), “ in 
hiding among the Huguenots — he brings a letter and a 
token from her to my mother. 

‘‘ Ha! and you know him? You avouch him to be what 
he represents himself ?^^ 

I knew him at court. I know him well. Father, 
make these fellows cease their insults! I have heard noth- 
ing yet. See here !^^ holding out what Mericour had put 
into his hand; ‘‘ this you can not doubt, mother.'’^ 

“Parted the pearls! Ah, the little minx!^^ cried the 
lady, as she recognized the jewels. 

“ 1 thought he had been robbed?^^ added Sir Marma- 
duke. 

“ The gentleman doubts?” said Mericour, catching some 
of the words. “ He should know that what is confided in 
a French gentleman is only taken from him with his life. 
Much did I lose; but the pearl I kept hidden in my mouth. ” 

Therewith he produced the letter. Lady Thistlewood 
pronounced that no power on earth should induce her to 
open it, and drew off herself and her little girls to a safe 
distance from the secret poison she fancied it contained; 
while Sir Marmaduke was rating the constables for taking 
advantage of his absence to interpret the Queen^s Vagrant 
Act in their own violent fashion; ending, however, by send- 
ing them round to the buttery-hatch to drink the young 
lord^s health. For the messenger, the good knight heart- 
ily grasped his hand, welcoming him and thanking him for 
having “ brought comfort to yon poor lad^s heart.” 

But there Sir Marmaduke paused, doubting whether the 
letter had indeed brought comfort; for Berenger, who had 
seized on it, when it was refused by his mother, was sitting 
under the tree — turning away indeed, but not able to con- 
ceal that his tears were gushing down like rain. The anx- 
ious exclamation of his step-father roused him at length, 
but he scarce found power or voice to utter, as he thrust 


222 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


the letter into the knight hand, “ Ah! see what has she 
not suffered for me? me, whom you would have had be- 
lieve her faithless!^’ 

He then grasped his friend ^s arm, and with him disap- 
peared into the house, leaving Sir Marmaduke holding the 
letter in a state of the utmost bewilderment, and calling by 
turns on his wife and daughter to read and explain it to 
him. 

And as Lucy read the letter, which her mother could not 
yet prevail on herself to touch, she felt at each word more 
grateful to the good Aunt Cecily, whose influence had 
taught her always to view Berenger as a brother, and not 
to condemn unheard the poor young wife. If she had not 
been thus guarded, what distress might not this day of joy 
to Berenger have brought to Lucy. Indeed, Lady Thistle- 
wood was vexed enough as it was, and ready to carry her 
incredulity to the most inconsistent lengths. “ It was all 
a trick for getting the poor boy back, that they might 
make an end of him altogether. Tell her they thought 
him dead. “ Tilley-valley! it was a mere attempt on her 
own good-nature, to get a little French impostor on her 
hands. Let Sir Duke look well to it, and take care that 
her poor boy was not decoyed among them. The French- 
man might be cutting his throat at that moment! Where 
was he? Had Sir Duke been so lost as to let them out of 
sight together? Ho one had either pity or prudence now 
that her poor father was gone;’^ and she began to weep. 

“Ho great fear on that score, dame,^^ laughed the 
knight. “ Did you not hear the lad shouting for ‘ Phil, 
Phil!^ almost in a voice like old times? It does one good 
to hear it. 

Just at twilight, Berenger came down the steps, con- 
ducting a graceful gentleman in black, to whom Lady This- 
tlewood^s instinct impelled her to make a low courtesy, be- 
fore Berenger had said, “ Madame, allow me to present to 
you my friend, the Abbe de Mericour. 

‘‘ Is it the same?^^ whispered Bessie to Annora. “ Surely 
he is translated !^^ 

“ Only into Philipps old mourning suit. I know it by 
the stain on the knee. 

“ Then it is translated too. Hevcr did it look so well 
on Philip! See, our mother is quite gracious to him; slie 


TUE CTIAPLET OF PEAllLS. 


223 


speaks to him as though he were some noble visitor to my 
lord.^^ 

Therewith Sir Marmaduke came forward, shook Meri- 
cour with all his might by the hand, shouted to him his 
hearty thanks for the good he had done his poor lad, and 
assured him of a welcome from the very bottom of his 
heart. The good knight would fain have kept both Beren- 
ger and his friend at the manor, but Berenger was far too 
impatient to carry home his joy, and only begged the loan 
of a horse for Mericour. For himself, he felt as if fatigue 
or dejection would never touch him again, and he kissed 
his mother and his sisters, ineluding Lucy, all round, with 
an effusion of delight. 

“ Is that indeed your step-father?^^ said Mericour, as 
they rode away together. And the young man, is he 
your half-brother?^^ 

‘‘ Brother wholly in dear love,^^ said Berenger; “ no 
blood relation. The little girls are my mothers children. 

“ Ah! so large a family all one? All at home? None 
in convents?^-’ 

“ We have no convents. 

‘‘Ah, no. But all at home! All at peace! Tliis is a 
strange place, your England. 


CHAPTER XXIL 

DEPAKTURE. 

It is my mistress! 

Since she is living, let the time run on 
To good or bad, — Cymbeline. 

Mericouii found the welcome at Hurst Walwyn as 
kindly and more polished than that at Combe Manor. He 
was more readily understood, and faund himself at his 
natural element. Lord Walwyn, in especial, took much/ 
notice of him, and conversed with him long and earnestly ; 
while Berenger, too happy and too weary to exert himself 
to say many words, sat as near Cecily as he could, treating 
her as though she, who had never contradicted him in his 
trust in Eustacie, were the only person who could worthily 
share his infinite relief, peace, and thankfulness. 

Lord Walwyn said scarcely anything to his grandson 
that night, only when Berenger, as usual, bent his knee to 


224 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


ask his blessing on parting for the night, he said, gravely, 
“ Son, I am glad of your joy; I fear me you have somewhat 
to pardon your grandsire. Come to my library so soon as 
morning prayers be over; we will speak then. Not now, 
my dear lad,^ he added, as Berenger, with tears in his 
eyes, kissed his hand, and would have begun; you are too 
much worn and spent to make my deaf ears hear. Sleep, 
and take my blessing with you. 

It was a delight to see the young face freed from the 
haggard, dejected expression that had been sadder than the 
outward wounds; and yet it was so questionable how far 
the French connection was acceptable to the family, that 
when Berenger requested Mr. Adderley to make mention 
of the mercy vouchsafed to him in the morning devotions, 
the chaplain bowed, indeed, but took care to ascertain that 
his so doing would be agreeable to my lord and my lady. 

He found that if Lady Walwyn was still inclined to re- 
gret that the Frenchwoman was so entirely a wife, and 
thought Berenger had been very hasty and imprudent, yet 
that the old lord was chiefly distressed at the cruel injustice 
he had so long been doing this poor young thing. A strong 
sense of justice, and long habit of dignified self-restraint, 
alone prevented Lord Walwyn from severely censuring Mr. 
Adderley for misrepresentations; but the old nobleman rec- 
ollected that Walsingham had been in the same story, and 
was too upright to visit his own vexation on the honestly 
mistaken tutor. 

However, when Berenger made his appearance in the 
study, looking as if not one night, but weeks, had been 
spent in recovering health and spirit, the old man^s first 
word was a gentle rebuke for his having been left unaware 
of how far matters had gone; but he cut short the attempted 
reply, by saying he knew it was chiefly owing to his own 
overhasty conclusion, and fear of letting his grandson in- 
jure himself by vainly discussing the subject. Now, how- 
ever, he examined Berenger closely on all the proceedings 
at Paris and at Montpipeau, and soon understood that the 
ceremony had been renewed, ratifying the vows taken in 
infancy. The old statesman's face cleared up at once; for, 
as he explained, he had now no anxieties as to the validity 
of the marriage by English law, at least, in spite of the 
decree from Rome, which, as he pointed out to his grand- 
son, was wholly contingent on the absence of subsequent 


THE CHAPLET OP PEARLS. 


225 


consent, since the parties had come to an age for free will. 
Had he known of this, the remarriage, he said, he should 
cm-tainly have been less supine. Why had Berenger been 
silent? 

‘ ‘ I was commanded, sir. I fear I have transgressed the 
command by mentioning it now. I must pray you to be 
secret.^-’ 

“ Secret, foolish lad. Know you not that the rights of 
your wife and your child rest upon it?” and as the change 
in Berenger ^s looks showed that he had not comprehended 
the full importance of the second ceremony as nullifying 
the Papal sentence, which could only quash the first on the 
ground of want of mutual consent, he proceeded, Com- 
mand, quotha? Who there had any right to command you, 
boy?’^ 

‘‘ Only one, sir.-’^- 

Come, this is no moment for lovers^ folly. It was not 
the girl, then ? Then it could be no other than the miser- 
able king- — was it so?” 

“ Yes, sir,^^ said Berenger. “ He hade me as king, and 
requested me as the friend who gave her to me. I could 
do no otherwise, and I thought it would be but a matter of 
a few days, and that our original marriage was the only 
important one. ^ ^ 

“ Have you any parchment to prove it?^^ 

Ko, sir. It passed but as a ceremony to satisfy the 
queen^s scruples ere she gave my wife to me to take home. 
I even think the king was displeased at her requiring it.^^ 

“ Was Mr. Sidney a witness?^ ^ 

“ Ko, sir. None was present, save the king and queen, 
her German countess, and the German priest. 

‘‘ The day?” 

“ Lammas-day. ” 

“ The 1st of August of the year of grace 1572. I will 
write to Walsiiigham to obtain the testimony, if possible, 
of king or of priest; but belike they will deny it all. It was 
part of the trick. Shame upon it that a king should dig 
pits for so small a game as you, my poor lad!” 

Verily, my lord,” said Berenger, “ I think the king 
meant us kindly, and would gladly have sped us well away. 
Methought he felt his bondage bitterly, and would fain 
have dared to be a true king. Even at the last, he bade 
me to his garde-role,, and all there were unhurt. 


226 THE CHAPLET OP PEARLS. 

“ And wherefore obeyed you not?^^ 

“ The carouse would have kept me too late for our 
flight. ’’ 

“ King’s behests may not lightly be disregarded/’ said 
the old courtier, with a smile. ‘^However, since he showed 
such seeming favor to you, surely you might send a petition 
to him privately, through Sir Francis Walsingham, to let 
the priest testify to your renewal of contract, engaging not 
to use it to his detriment in France. ” 

“ I will do so, sir. Meanwhile,” he added, as one who 
felt he had earned a right to be heard in his turn, “ I have 
your permission to hasten to bring home my wife?” 

Lord Walwyn was startled at this demand from one still 
so far from recovered as Berenger. Even this talk, eager 
as the youth was, had not been carried on without much 
difficulty, repetition, and altered phrases, when he could 
not pronounce distinctly enough to be understood, and the 
effort brought lines of pain into his brow. He could take 
little solid food, had hardly any strength for walking or 
riding; and, though all his wounds were whole, except that 
one unmanageable shot in the mouth, he looked entirely 
unfit to venture on a long journey in the very country that 
had sent him home a year before scarcely alive. Lord Wal- 
wyn had already devised what he thought a far more prac- 
ticable arrangement; namely, to send Mr. AddeiTey and 
some of my lady ’s women by sea, under the charge of Mas- 
ter Hobbs, a shipmaster at Weymouth, who tnaled with 
Bordeaux for wine, and could easily put in near La 8ab- 
lerie, and bring off the lady and child, and, if she wished it, 
the pastor to whom such a debt of gratitude was owing. 

Berenger was delighted with the notion of the sea rather 
than the land journey; but he pointed out at once that this 
would remove all objection to his going in person. He had 
often been out whole nights with the fishermen, and knew 
that a sea-voyage would be better for his health than any- 
thing — certainly better than pining and languisliing at 
home, as he had done for months. He could not bear to 
think of separation from Eustacie an hour longer than 
needful; nay, she had been cruelly entreated enough al- 
ready; and as long as he could keep his feet, it was abso- 
lutely due to her that he should not let others, instead of 
himself, go in search of her. It would be almost death to 
him- to stay at home. 


THE CHAPL^IT OF FEAllLS. 


227 


Lor 1 W alwyn looked at the pallid, wasted face, with all 
its marks of suffering and intense eagerness of expression, 
increased by the difficulty of utterance and need of subdu- 
ing agitation. He felt that the long-misunderstood j^a- 
tience and endurance had earned something; aiid he knew, 
too, that for all his grand son^s submission and respect, the 
boy, as a husband and father, had rights and duties that 
would assert themselves manfully if opposed. It was true 
that the sea-voyage obviated many difficulties, and it was 
better to consent with a good grace than drive one hitherto 
so dutiful to rebellion. He did then consent, and was re- 
W'arded by the lightning flash of joy and gratitude in the 
bright blue eyes, and the fervent pressure and kiss of his 
hand, as Berenger exclaimed, ‘‘ Ah! sir, Eustacie will be 
such a daughter to you. You should liave seen how the 
admiral liked her!'’'’ 

The news of Lord Walwyn^s consent raised much com- 
motion in the family. Dame Annora was sure her poor 
son would be murdered outright this time, and that no- 
body cared because he was only her son; and she strove 
hard to stir up Sir Marmaduke to remonstrate with her fa- 
ther; but the good knight had never disputed a judgment 
of “ my lord'’s ” in his whole life, and had even received 
his first wife from his hands, when forsaken by the gay 
Annora. So she could only ride over to Combe, be silenced 
by her father, as effectually as if Jupiter had nodded, and 
bewail and murmur to her mother till she lashed Lady 
Walw 3 m up into finding every possible reason why Beren- 
ger should and must sail. Then she went home, was very 
sharp with Lucy, and was reckoned by saucy little Nan to 
have nineteen times exclaimed “ Tilley-valley " in the course 
of one day. 

The effect upon Philip was a vehement insistance on 
going with his brother. He was sure no one else would see 
to Berry half as well; and as to letting Berry go, to be mur- 
dered again without him, he would not hear of it; he must 
go, he would not stay at home; he should not study; no, 
no, he should be ready to hang himself for vexation, and 
thinking what they were doing to his brother. And thus 
he extorted from his kind-hearted father an avowal that lie 
should be easier about the lad if Phil were there, and that 
he might go, provided Berry would have him, and my lord 
saw no objection. The first point was soon settled; and as 


2S8 THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 

to the second, there was no reason at all that Philip should 
not go where his brother did. In fact, excepting for 
Berenger^s state of health, there was hardly any risk about 
the matter. Master Hobbs, to whom Philip rode down 
ecstatically to request him to come and speak to my lord, 
was a stout, honest, experienced seaman, who was perfectly 
at home in the Bay of Biscay, and had so strong a feudal 
feeling for the house of Walwyn, that he placed himself 
and his best ship, the “ Throstle, entirely at his disposal. 
The ‘‘ Throstle was a capital sailer, and carried arms 
quite sufficient in English hands to protect her against 
Algerine corsairs or Spanish pirates. He only asked for a 
week to make her cabin ready for the reception of a lady, 
and this time was spent in sending a post to London, to ob- 
tain for Berenger the permit from the queen, and the pass- 
port from the French Ambassador, without which he could 
not safely have gone; and, as a further precaution, letters 
were requested from some of the secret agents of the Hugue- 
nots to facilitate his admission into La &blerie. 

In the meantime, poor Mr. Adderley had submitted 
meekly to the decree that sentenced him to weeks of misery 
on board the Throstle,^’ but to his infinite relief, an in- 
spection of the cabins proved the space so small, that 
Berenger represented to his grandfather that the excellent 
tutor would be only an incumbrance to himself and every 
one else, and that with Philip he should need no one. In- 
deed, he had made such a start into vigor and alertness 
during the last few days that there was far less anxiety 
about him, though with several sighs for poor Osbert. 
Cecily initiated Philip into her simple rules for her patient^s 
treatment in case of the return of his more painful symp- 
toms. The notion of sending female attendants for Eusta- 
cie was also abandoned; her husband^s presence rendered 
them unnecessary, or they might be procured at La Sab- 
lerie; and thus it happened that the only servants whom 
Berenger was to take with him were Humfrey Holt and 
John Smithers, the same honest fellows whose steadiness 
had so much conduced to his rescue at Paris. 

Claude de Mericour had in the meantime been treated as 
an honored guest at Combe AYalw3m, and was in good es- 
teem with its master. He would have set forth at once on 
his journey to Scotland^ but that Lord Walwyn advised him 
to wait and ascertain the condition of his relatives there 


THE CHAPLET OP PEAELS. 


229 


before throwing liimself on them. Berenger had, accord- 
ingly, when writing to Sidney by the messenger above men- 
tioned, begged him to find out from Sir Robert Melville, 
the Scottish Envoy, all he could about the family whose 
designation he wrote down at a venture from Mericour’a 
lips. 

Sidney returned a most affectionate answer, sa3dng that 
he had never been able to believe the little shepherdess a 
traitor, and was charmed that she had proved herself a 
heroine; he should endeavor to greet her with all his best 
powers as a poet, when she should brighten the English 
Court; but his friend. Master Spenser, alone was fit to 
celebrate such constancy. As to M. RAbbe de Mericour's 
friends. Sir Robert Melville had recognized their name at 
once, and had pronounced them to be fierce Catholics and 
Queensmen, so sorely pressed by the Douglases, that it was 
believed they would soon fly the country altogether; and 
Sidney added, what Lord Walwyn had already said, that to 
seek Scotland rather than France as a resting-place in 
which to weigh between Calvinism and Catholicism, was 
only the fire instead of the frying-pan; since there the 
parties were trebly hot and fanatical. His counsel was 
that M. de Mericour should so far conform himself to the 
English Church as to obtain admission to one of the uni- 
versities, and, through his uncle of Leicester, he could ob- 
tain for him an opening at Oxford, where he might fully 
study the subject. 

There was much to incline Mericour to accept this comi- 
sel. He had had much conversation with Mr. Adderley, 
and had attended his ministrations in the chapel, and 
both satisfied him far better than what he had seen among 
the French Calvinists; and the peace and family affection 
of the two houses were like a new world to him. But he 
had not yet made up his mind to that absolute disavowal 
of his own branch of the Church, which alone could have 
rendered him eligible for any foundation at Oxford. His 
attainments in classics would, Mr. Adderley thought, reach 
such a standard as to gain one of the very few scholarships 
open to foreigners; and his noble blood revolted at becom- 
ing a pensioner of Leicester's, or of any other nobleman. 

Lord Walwyn, upon this, made an earnest offer of his 
hospitality, and entreated the young man to remain at 
Hurst Walwyn till the return of Berenger and Philip, dur- 


230 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


ing which time he might study under the directions of Mr. 
Adderley, and come to a decision whether to seek recon- 
ciliation with his native Church and his brother, or to re- 
main in England. In this latter case, he might perhaps 
accompany both the youths to Oxford, for, in spite of 
Berenger^s marriage, his education was still not supposed 
to be complete. And when Mericour still demurred with 
reluctance to become a burden on the bounty of the noble 
house, he was reminded gracefully of the debt of gratitude 
that the family owed to him for the relief he had brought 
to Berenger; and, moreover. Dame Annora giggled out 
that, “ if he would teach Nan and Bess to speak and read 
French and Italian, it would be worth something to them. 
The others of the family would have hushed up this un- 
called-for proposal; but Mericour caught at it as the most 
congenial mode of returning the obligation. Every morning 
he undertook to walk or ride over to the manor, and there 
gave his lessons to the young ladies, with whom he was ex- 
tremely popular. He was a far more brilliant teacher than 
Lucy, and ten thousand times preferable to Mr. Adderley, 
who had once begun to teach Annora her accidence with 
lamentable want of success. 


EOT OF FIRST HALF. 


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648 Angel of the Bells, The. By F. 


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299 Fatal Ijilies, The, and A Bride 
from the Sea. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “Dora 

Thorne ’’ 

548 Fatal Marriage, A, and The 
Shadow in the Corner. By 

Miss M. E. Braddon 

693 Felix Holt, the Radical. By 

George Eliot 

642 Fenton’s Quest. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 


10 


20 

20 

20 

20 


20 

10 

20 

20 

20 


20 

10 

10 

20 


20 


20 


20 

20 


20 


20 

10 


7 File No. 113. By Emile Gabo- 

riau 20 

575 Finger of Fate, The. By Cap- 
tain Mayne Reid 20 

95 Fire Brigade, The. By R. M. 

Ballantyne lO 

674 First Person Singular. By Da- 
vid Christie Murray 20 

199 Fisher Village, The. By Anne 

Beale 10 

579 Flower of Doom, The, and 
Other Stories. By M. Bethani- 

Edwards 10 

745 For Another’s Sin ; or, A Strug- 
gle for Love. By Charlotte M. 
Bz'aeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ’’ 20 

156 “ For a Dream’s Sake.” By Mrs. 

Herbert Martin 20 

173 Foreigners, The. By Eleanor C. 


197 For Her Dear Sake. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

150 For Himself Alone. By T. W. 

Speight 10 

278 For Life and Love. By Alison. 10 
608 For Lilias. By Rosa Nouchette 

Care}-^ 20 

712 Fur Maimie’s Sake. By Grant 

Allen 20 

586 “ For Percival.” By Margaret 

Veley... 20 

171 Foi-tune’s Wheel. By “ The 

Duchess” 10 

468 Fortunes, Good and Bad, of a 
Sewing-Girl, The. By Char- 
lotte M. Stanley 10 

216 Foul Play. By Charles Reade. 20 
438 Found Out. By Helen B. 

Mathers 10 

333 Flank Fairlegh; or. Scenes 
From the Life of a Private 
Pupil. By Frank E. Smedley 20 

226 Friendship. By “Ouida” 20 

288 From Gloom to Sunlight. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of “Dom Thorne” 10 

732 From Olympus to Hades. By 

Mrs. Forrester , — 20 

348 From Post to Finish. A Racing 
Romance. By Hawley Smart 20 


20 

20 

10 


2.85 

365 


331 

208 


10 


613 


10 

20 

20 


225 

300 


( 4 ) 


Gambler’s Wife, The 20 

George Christy; or. The Fort- 
unes of a Minstrel. By Tony 

Pastor 20 

Gerald. By Eleanor C. Price. . 20 
Ghost of Charlotte Cray, The, 
and Other Stories. By Flor- 
ence Marryat 10 

Ghost’s Touch, The, and Percy 
and the Prophet. By Wilkie 
Collins..... 10 


Giant’s Robe, The. By F. Anstey 20 
Gililed Sin, A, and A Bridge 
of Love. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.-Pocket Edition. 


644 Girton Girl, A. By Mrs. Annie 


Edwards 20 

140 Glorious Fortune, A. By Wal- 
ter Besant 10 

647 Goblin Gold. By May Crom- 

nielin 10 

450 Godfrey Helstone. By Georgi- 

ana M. Craik 20 

153 Golden Calf, The. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

306 Golden Dawn, A, and Love for a 
Da5^ B}' Charlotte M. Braeme, 
author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 10 
656 Golden Flood, The. By R. E. 

Fraucillon and Wm. Senior. . 10 
172 ” Golden Girls.” By Alan Muir 20 
292 Golden Heart, A. B3' Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “Dora 
Thorne” 10 

667 Golden Lion of Granpere, The. 

By Anthony Trollope 20 

356 Good Hater, A. By Frederick 

Boyle 20 

710 Greatest Heiress in England, 

The. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

439 Great Expectations. By Charles 

Dickens 20 

135 Great Heiress, A : A Fortune in 
Seven Checks. By R. E. Frau- 
cillon 10 

244 Great Mistake, A. Bv the author 

of “ His Wedded Wife ” 20 

170 Great Treason, A. By Mary 

Hoppus 30 

138 Green Pastures and Piccadillj'. 

By Wm. Black 20 

231 Griffith Gaunt; or. Jealousy. 

By Charles Reade 20 

677 Griselda. By the author of “A 

Woman’s Love-Story ” 20 

697 Haco the Dreamer. By William 

Si me 10 

668 Half-Way. An Anglo-French 

Romance 20 

663 Handy Andy. By Samuel Lover 20 
84 Hard Times. By Chas. Dickens 10 
6^ Harr.y Heathcote of Gangoil. By 

Anthony Trollope 10 

191 Hany Lorrequer. By Chai’les 

Lever 20 

669 Hariy Muir. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 
169 Haunted Man, The. By Charles 

Dickens 10 

633 Hazel Kirke. By Marie Walsh 20 
385 Headsman,' The ; or, The Ab- 
l)aye des Vignerous. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

672 H(*alej\ By Jessie Fothergill. 20 
167 Heart and Science. By Wilkie 

Collins • 20 

444 Heart of Jane Warner, The. By 

Florence Marryat 20 

391 Heart of Mid-Lothian, The. By- 

Sir Walter Scott 20 

695 Hearts: Queen, Knave, and 
Deuce. By David Christie 
MuiTay 20 


741 Heiress of Hilldrop, The; or. 
The Romance of a Young 


Girl. By Charlotte M. Braeme, 
author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 20 
689 Heir Presumptive, The. By 

Florence Marryat 20 

513 Helen Whitney’s Wedding, and 
Other Tales. By Mrs. Henry 

Wood 10 

535 Henrietta’s Wish; or. Domi- 
neering. By Charlotte M. 

Yonge 10 

180 Her Gentle Deeds. By Sarah 

Tytler lO 

576 Her Martyrdom. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “Dora 

Tliorne ” 20 

19 Her lilother’s Sin. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ” 10 

196 Hidden Perils. Mary Cecil Hay 10 

518 Hidden Sin, The. A Novel 20 

297 Hilary’s Folly. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “Dora 

Thorne” 10 

294 Hilda. B3' Charlotte M. Braeme, 

author of “ Doi’a Thorne ”... 10 
658 Histoiy of a Week, The. By 

Mrs. L. B. AValford 10 

165 History of Hemy Esmond, The. 

By William M. Thackeray. . . 20 
461 His Wedded Wife. By author 
of “ Ladybird’s Penitence ” . . 20 

378 Homeward Bound ; or. The 

■Chase. By J. F. Cooper 20 

379 Home as Found. (Sequel to 

“ Homeward Bound.’’) ByJ. 

Fenimore Cooper....' !... 20 

552 Hostages to Fortune. B3' Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

600 Houp-La. By John Strange 

Winter. (Illustrated) 10 

748 Hurrish: A Study. By the 

Hon. Emily Lawless 20 

703 House Divided Against Itself, 

A. B3’ Mrs. Oliphant 20 

248 House on the Marsh, The. By 

F. AVarden 10 

351 House on the Moor, The. B3' 

Mrs. Oliphant 20 

481 House That Jack Built, The. 

By Alison 10 

198 Husband’s Story, A 10 

389 Ichabod. A Portrait. By Bertha 

Thomas 10 

188 Idonea. By Anne Beale... ..! 20 
715 I Have Lived and Loved. By 


1 

303 Ingledew House, and More Bit- 

ter than Death. By Charlotte 
IM. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 10 

304 In Cupid’s Net. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne” 10 

404 In Durance Vile. By" The 
Duchess ” . ... 10 


TEE SEASIDE LIB RAEY.— Pocket Edition. 


324 In Luck at Last. By Walter 

Besant 

672 In Maremma. By Ouida.’' 1st 

half 

672 In Maremma. By “Ouida.” 2(1 

half. 

604 Innocent: A Tale of Modern 
Life. By Mrs. Oliphant. Fii'st 

Half 

604 Innocent: A Tale of Modern 
Life. By Mrs. Oliphant. Sec- 
ond Half 

577 In Peril and Privation. By 

James Payn 

6:18 In Quartei’s with the 25th (The 
Black Horse) Dragoons. By 

J. S. Winter 

759 In Shallow Watei^s. By Annie 

Armitt 

39 In Silk Attire. By William Black 
738 In the Golden Days. By Edna 

Lyall 

682 In. ibhe Middle Watch. By W. 

Clark Russell 

452 In the West Couutrie. By May 

Crommelin 

383 Introduced to Society. B}^ Ham- 
ilton Aid6 

122 lone Stewart. By Mrs. E. Lynn 

Linton 

233 “ I Say No or, The Love-Let- 
ter Answered. By Wilkie Col- 
lins 

235 “ It is Never Too Late to Mend.” 

By Charles Reade 

28 Ivaiihoe. By Sir Walter Scott. 


534 Jack. By Alphonse Daudet — 
416 Jack Tier ; or, The Florida Reef. 

By J. Fenimore Cooper, 

743 Jack’s Courtship. By W. Clark 

Russell. 1st half 

743 Jack’s Courtship. By W. Clark 

Russell. 2d half 

519 James Gordon’s Wife, A Novel 
15 Jane Eyre. By Charlotte Bront6 
728 Janet’s Repentance. By George 

Eliot 

112 Jenifer, By Annie Thomas 

357 John. By Mrs. Oliphant 

203 John Bull and His Island. By 

Max O’Rell 

289 John Bull’s Neighbor in Her 
True Light. By a “Brutal 

Saxon ” 

11 John Halifax, Gentleman. By 

Miss Mulock 

209 John Holdsworth, Chief Mate. 

By W. Clark Russell 

694 John Maidmeut. By Julian 

Sturgis 

570 John Marchmont’s Legacy. By 

Miss M. E. Bt addon 

488 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter. 

By Miss M. E. Braddon 

619 Joy; or. The Light of Cold- 
Home Ford. By May Crorn- 
melin 


Judith Shakespeare: Her Love 
Affairs and Other Advent- 


ures. By William Black 20 

.Tudith Wynne 20 

June. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

Just As I Am. By Miss M. E. 
Braddon 20 


Kilmeny. By William Black.. 20 
Klytia : A Story of Heidelberg 
Castle. By George Taylor. . . 20 


Lady Branksmere. By “ The 

Duchess” 20 

Lady Audley’s Secret. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

Lady Clare; or. The Master of 
the Forges. From the French 

of Georges Ohuet 10 

Lady Darner’s Secret. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

Lady Gay’s Pride; or. The Mi- 
ser’s Treasure. By Mrs. Alex. 

McVeigh Miller 20 

Lady Lovelace. By the author 
of “.Judith W3’nne . 20 

Ladj' Muriel’s Secret. B3" Jean 

Middlemas 20 

Lady of Lyons, The. Founded 
oh the Play of that- title by 

Lord Lytton '. 10 

Lady’s Mile, The. By IMiss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

Lady With the Rubies, The. By 

E. Marlitt 20 

Lancaster's Choice. By Mrs. 

Alex. McVeigh Miller 20 

Lancelot Ward, M.P. By George 

Temple 10 

Land Leaguers, The. By An- 

thon5' Trollope 20 

Last Da3"S at A.pswioh 10 

Last Days of Pompeii, The. By 
Buhver Lytton 20 


XJclrOU WL LllC? 

E. Buhver Lytton. 1st half.. 20 
Last of the Barons, The. By Sir 
E. Buhver Lytton. 2d half.. 20 
Last of the Mohicans, The. By 

J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

Laurel Vane; or, The Girls’ 
Conspiracy. B3’' Mrs. Alex. 

McVeigh Miller .20 

Lazarus in London. By F. W. 

Robinson 20 

Led Astra3'; or, “La Petite 
Comtesse.” Octave Feuillet. 10 
Leila ; or. The Siege of Grenada. 

By Bui wer Lytton 10 

Lester’s Secret. By Mary Cecil 

Hay 20 

Lewis Arundel; or. The Rail- 
road of Life. By Frank E. 

Smedle>’’ 20 

Life and Adventures of Martin 
( dmzzlewit. 63’ Charles Dick- 
ens. First halif 26 


265 

10 

20 332 

80 

20 561 

“ 136 

435 

20 

10 733 

35 

10 

219 

20 

20 

469 

20 

20 268 

20 

506 

10 

155 

20 

161 

20 

497 

20 

20 652 

269 

20 

599 

20 

32 

20 

684 

20 40 

20 

20 130 

10 130 

20 

20 60 

io 267 

10 455 

20 386 

10 164 

20 408 

20 562 

20 

437 

20 

(61 


THE SEASIDE LI im ARY. —Pocket Edition. 


iZH Life and Adventures of Martin 
Clnizzlewit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. Second half 

G98 Life’s Atonement, A. B3" David 

Christie Murray 

617 Like Diau’s Kiss. By “ Rita ”. 
402 Lilliesleaf : or, Passages in the 
Life of Mrs. Margaret Mait- 
land of Suunyside. By Mrs. 

Oliphaut 

397 Lionel Lincoln ; or, The Leaguer 
of Boston. By J. Feiiiiuore 

Cooper 

94 Little Dorrit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. First half 

94 Little Dorrit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. Second half 

279 Little Goldie : A Story of Wom- 
an’s Love. By Mrs. Sumner 

Hayden 

109 Little Loo. By W. Clark Russell 
179 Little Make-Believe. By B. L. 

Farjeon 

45 Little Pilgrim, A. By Mi’S. Oli- 
phant 

272 Little Savage, The. By Captain 

Marry at 

Ill Little School-master Mark, The. 

By J. H. Shorthouse 

92 Lord Lynne’s Choice. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne’’ 

749 Lord Vanecourt’s Daughter. By 

Mabel Collins 

67 Lorua Doone. By R. D. Black- 

more. First half 

67 Lorna Doone. By R. D. Black- 
more. Second half 

473 Lost Son, A. By Mary Linskill. 
354 Lottery of Life. The. A Story 
of New York Twenty Years 
Ago. By John Brougham .. 
453 Lottery Ticket, The. By F. Du 

Boisgobey 

479 Louisa. By Katharine S. Mac- 

quoiil 

742 Love and Life. By Charlotte 
M. Yonge 

273 Love and Mirage : or. The Wait- 

ing on an Island. By M. 

Betham -Ed wards 

232 Love and Money ; or, A Peril- 
ous Seci’et. By Chas. Reade. 
146 Love Finds the Way, and Other 
Stories. By Walter Besant 

and James Rice 

313 Lover’s Creed, The. By Mrs. 

Cashel Hoej’ 

573 Love’s Harvest. B. L. Farjeon 
175 Love’s Random Shot. By Wilkie 

Collins 

757 Love’s Martyr. By Laurence 

Alma Tadema 

291 Love’s Warfare. By Cliarlotte 
]\l. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ’’ 

118 Loys, Lord Berresford. and Eric 
Deriug. By “ The Duchess ” 


Lucia, Hugh and Another. By 


Mrs. J. H. Needell 20 

Luck of the Darrells, The. By 

James Pay n 20 

Lucy Crofton. By Mrs. Oliphaut 10 

Macleod of Dare. By William 

Black 20 

Madame De Presnel. By E. 

Frances Poynter 20 

Madam. By Mrs. Oliphaut 20 

Madcap Violet. B3" Wm. Black 20 
Mad Love, A. Bj^ the author of 

“Lover and Lord’’ 10 

Madolin’s Lover. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “Dora 

Thorne’’ 20 

Madolin Rivers; or. The Little 
Beauty .of Red Oak Seminary. 

By Laura Jean Libbey 20 

Magdalen Hepburn : A Story of 
the Scottish Reformation. By 

Mrs. Oliphaut 20 

Maiden All Forlorn, A, and Bar- 
bara. By “ The Duchess ”... 10 
Maiden Fair, A. Charles Gibbon 10 
Maid of Athens. By Justin 

McCarthy' 20 

Maid of Sker, The. By R D. 

Blackmore. 1st half 20 

Maid of Sker, The. By R. D. 

Blackmore. 2d half 20 

Maid, Wife, or AVidow? By 

Mrs. Alexander 10 

Man and Wife. By AVilkie Col- 
lins. First half 20 

Man and AVife. By AA'ilkie Col- 
lins. Second half 20 

Man of Honor, A. By John 
Strange AA’inter. Illustrated. 10 
Man She Cared For, The. B3" 

F. AA’^. Robinson 20 

Margaret Maitland. By Mrs. 

Oliphaut 20 

Market Harborough, and Inside 
the Bar. G. J. AA"h5'te-Melville 20 
Marriage of Convenience, A. 

By Harriett Jaj" 10 

Married in Haste. Edited by 

Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

IMary Anerley. By R. D. Bkvck- 

more 20 

Master Humphrey’s Clock. By 

Charles Dickens lO 

Master of the Mine, The. B.y 
Robert Buchanan 20 


Mathias Sandorf. By Jules 

A’^erne. (Illustrated.) Parti. 10 
Mathias Sandorf. By Jules 

Verne. (Illustrated.) Part II 10 
Mathias Sandorf. 13y Jules 

Verne. (Illustrated.) Part III 10 
Matt; A Tale of a Caravan. 


By Robert Buchanan 10 

Mauleverer’s Millions. By T. 
Wemy.ss Reid 20 


Dlaj' Blossom : or, Between Two 
Loves. By Margaret Lee 20 


582 

20 589 

20 370 

20 

44 

20 526 

345 

20 78 

510 

20 

69 

20 

341 

20 

20 

Oi i 

10 

10 449 

10 

121 

633 

10 

20 

20 

20 

688 

20 

20 

20 

20 

480 

10 615 

10 132 

10 

20 

20 578 

10 578 

10 398 

723 

10 

:i;i0 

10 

( 7 ) 


TUE SEASIDE LUTRARY , — Pocket Edition. 


337 Memoirs and Resolutions of 
Adam Graeme of Moss^ray, 
including: some Chronicles of 
the Boroug:h of Fendie. By 

Mrs. Oliphant 

424 jMercedes of Castile; or, The 
Voyage to Cathay. By J. Fen- 

imore Cooper 

406 Merchant’s Clerk, The. By Sam- 
uel Warren 

31 Mid Jleinarch. By George Eliot. 

First half 

31 Middlemarch. By George Eliot. 

Second half 

187 Midnight Sun, The. ByFredrika 

Bremer .* 

729 Mignon. By Mrs. Forrester... 
492 Mignon ; or. Booties’ Baby. By 

J. S. Winter 

692 Mikado, The. and other Comic 
Operas. Written by W. S. 
Gilbert. Composed by Arthur 

Sullivan 

390 Mildred Trevanion. By “ The 

Duchess ” 

414 Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to 
“ Afloat and Ashore.”) By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 

3 Mill on the Floss, The. By 

George Eliot 

157 Milly’sHero. By F. W. Robinson 

182 Millionaire. The 

205 Minister's Wife, The. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 

Jino Miss Brown. By Vernon Lee. . 
369 Miss Bretherton. ByMrs. Hum- 

l)hry Ward 

245 Miss Tommy. By, Miss Mulock 
315 Mistletoe Bough, The. Edited 

by Miss M. E. Braddon 

618 Mistletoe Bough, The. Christ- 
mas, 1885, Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 

298 Mitchelliurst Place, By Marga- 
ret Veley 

584 Mixed Motives 

2 Molly Bawn. By “ The Duch- 
ess ”... 

159 Moment of Madness, A, and 
Other Stories. By Florence 

Marry at 

125 Monarch of Mincing Lane, The. 

By William Black 

201 Monastery, The. By Sir Walter 

Scott 

119 Monica, and A Rose Distill’d. 

By “ The Duchess ” 

431 Monikins. The. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. By Emile 

Gaboriau, Vol. I.., 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. By Emile 

Gaboriau. Vol. II 

166 Moonshine and Marguerites. 

By “The Duchess” 

102 Moonstone, The. Wilkie Collins 
178 More Leaves from the Journal 
of a Life in the Highlands. 
By Queen Victoria 


Moths. By “Ouida” 20 

Mount Royal. By Miss M, E, 

Braddon 20 

Ml-. Butler’s Ward. By F. Mabel 

Robinson 20 

Mrs. Carr’s Companion. By M. 

G. Wightwick 10 

Mrs. Dymond. By Miss Thacke- 
ray 20 

Mrs. Geoffrey. By “ The Duch- 
ess ” 20 

Mrs. Hollyer. By Georgiana M. 

Craik 20 

Mrs. Keith’s Crime 10 

Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings. By 

Charles Dickens 10 

Mr. Smith : A Part of His Life. 

By L. B. Walford 20 

Mrs. Smith of Longmains. By 
Rhoda Bi-oughton, and Oli- 
ver’s Bride. By Mrs. Oliphant 10 
Mrs. Vereker’s Courier Maid. 

By Ml’S. Alexander 10 

Murder or Manslaughter? By 

Helen B. Mathers 10 

My Ducats and My Daughter. 

By the author of “The Crime 

of Christmas Day” 20 

My Friends and I. Edited by 

Julian Sturgis 10 

My Hero. By Mrs. Forrester.. 20 
My Lady’s Money. By Wilkie 

Collins 10 

My Lord and My Lady. By 

Mrs. Forrester 20 

My Sister Kate. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne,” and A Rainy June. 

By “Ouida” 10 

Mysterie.« of Paris, The. By Eu- 
gene Sue. Parti.. 20 

Mysteries of Paris, The. By Eu- 
gene Sue. Part II 20 

M 5 -sterious Hunter, The; or. 
The Man of Death. By Capt. 

L. C. Carleton 20 

Mystery of Allan Grale, The. By 

Isabella F 3 wie Mayo 20 

M.vstery of Edwin Drood, The. 

By Ciias. Dickens 20 

Mystery of Jessy Page, The, 
and Other Tales. By Mrs. 

Henry Wood 10 

Mystery- of Orcival, The. By- 

Emile Gaboriau 20 

Blystery, The. By Mrs, Henry 

Wood 20 

My- Ten Years’ Imprisonment. 

By Silvio Pellico 10 

My Wife’s Niece. By the author 
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My Young Alcides. By Char- 
lotte M. Yonge 20 


Nabob, The: A Story of Paris- 
ian Life and Manners. By Al- 
phonse Daudet 20 

Nancy. By Rhoda Broughtwn. 2# 


116 

495 

501 

20 

113 

20 675 

10 25 

20 606 

20 546 

440 

10 

20 256 

10 645 

339 

20 

635 

10 

596 

20 

405 

20 

20 726 

20 623 

30 724 

20 

43;] 

10 

10 

20 271 

271 

20 

366 

10 

10 

662 

20 

454 

10 514 

20 

43 

20 

255 

10 

725 

20 

612 

20 

666 

20 

10 

20 574 

10 227 

i8) 


Tee seaside library— FoM Edition. 


509 Nell Haffenden. By Tighe Hop- 
kins 

181 New Abelard, The. By Robert 

Buchanan 

4&4 Newcouies, The. By William 
Makepeace Thackeray. Part 


464 Newcomes, The. By William 
Makepeace Thackeray. Part 

II 

52 New Magdalen, The. By Wilkie 

Collins 

37 Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles 

Dickens. First half 

37 Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles 

Dickens. Second half 

105 Noble Wife, A. John Saunders 
.565 No Medium. By Annie Thomas 
614 No. 99. By Arthur Griffiths... 
290 Nora’s Love Test. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 

595 North Country ]\Iaid, A. By 

Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Dickens 

and Collins 

215 Not Like Other Girls. By Rosa 

Nouchette Carey . . . 

640 Nuttie’s Father. By Charlotte 
M. Yonge 


425 Oak-Openings, The; or. The 
Bee-Hunter. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 

211 Octoroon, The 

183 Old Contrairy, and Other Sto- 
ries. By Florence Marryat. . 
10 Old Curiosity Shop, The. By 

Charles Dickens 

410 Old Lady Mary. By Mrs. Oli- 

phant '. 

72 Old Myddeltou’s Money. By 

Mary Cecil Ha}^ 

41 Oliver Twist. By Chas. Dickens 

505 Ombra. By Mrs. Olmhant 

280 Omnia Vanitas. A Tale of So- 
ciety. By Mrs. Forrester 

143 One False, Both Fair. By John 

B. Harwood 

384 On Horseback Through Asia 
Minor. By Captain Fred Bur- 
naby 

498 Only a Clod. By Miss M. E. 

Brad don 

496 Only a Woman. Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon 

655 Open Door, The, and The Por- 
trait. By Mrs. Oliphaiit 

708 Ormond. By Maria Edgewoi th 
12 Other People's Monej". By 

Emile Gaboi'iau 

639 Othinar. By “Ouida” 

131 Our Mutual Friend. By Charles 

Dickens. First half 

131 Our Mutual Friend. By Charles 

Dickens. Second half 

747 Our Sensation Novel. Edited 
by Justin H. McCarthy, M.P. 


Pair of Blue Eyes, A. By Thom- 


as Hardy 20 

Parson o’ Dumford, The. By 

G. Mauville Feim 20 

Pascarel. By “Ouida” 20 

Passive Crime, A, and Other 

Stories. By “ The Duchess ” 10 
Pathfinder, The. By J. Feni- 

moiij Cooper 20 

Paul Clifford. By Sir E. Bulwer 

Lytton, Bart 20 

Paul Crew's Story. By Alice 

Corny ns Carr 10 

Paul Vargas, and Other Stories. 

By Hugh Conway, author of 

“Called Back” 10 

Peeress and Player. B}^ Flor- 
ence Marryat 20 

Peril. By Jessie Fothergill ... 20 
Perpetual Curate, The. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

Peter the Whaler. By William 

H. G. Kingston 10 

Peveril of the Peak. By Sir 

Walter Scott 20 

Phautastes. A Faerie Romance 
for Men and Women. By 

Geoi’ge Macdonald 10 

Phantom Fortune. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

Philistia. By Cecil Power 20 

Philosophy of Whist, The. By 

William Pole 20 

Phyllis. By “ The Duchess ”. . 20 
Phyllis’ Probation. By the au- 
thor of “ His Wedded Wife ”. 10 
Piccadilly. Laurence Oliphant 10 
Pickwick Pa]iers. By Charles 

Dickens. "Vol. 1 20 

Pickwick Pa]>ers. By Charles 

Dickens. Vol. II 20 

Pictures From Ital 3 % and The 
Mudfog Papers, &c. By Chas. 

Dickens 20 

Picture, The, and Jack of All 
Trades. By Charles Reade. . . 10 
Pi6douche, a French Detective.? 

B}”^ Fortuu6 Du Boisgobey... 10 
Pioneers, The ; or. The Sources 
of the Susquehanna. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

Pirate, The. By Sir Walter Scott 20 
Polish Jew, Idle. (Translated 
from the French by Caroline 
A. Merighi.) By Erckmann- 

Chatrian 10 

Portent, The. By George Mac- 
donald... 10 

Portia. By “ The Duchess ”... 20 
Poverty Corner. By G. Manville 

Fenn 20 

Prairie, The. B^-^ J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

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530 

20 

587 

10 

238 

517 

20 

309 

20 720 

10 571 

20 525 

20 

20 449 

10 

10 314 

568 

20 

133 

20 

392 

10 

326 

20 

20 56 

3;i6 

669 

16 

20 372 

10 

.537 

10 24 

20 24 

10 448 

20 

20 206 

20 

264 

10 

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20 

393 

20 329 

20 

20 325 

10 6 

20 558 

20 310 

20 

422 

20 

697 

20 

697 

10 

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361 

421 

127 


237 


740 

375 


396 

190 

66 

139 


42 

360 

664 

070 

103 

296 


193 


129 

180 


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442 Ranthorpe. By George Henry 

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327 Raymond’s Atonement. (From 
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566 

736 

409 

489 

457 

616 

223 

177 

4z0 


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“Dora Thorne” 

89 Red Eric, The. By R. M. Ballan- 

tyne 

463 Redgauntlet. By Sir Walter 
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20 

10 


660 

660 

699 


20 

( 10 ) 


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Sime 20 

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B}^ J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

Remarkable History of Sir 
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Rhona. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

Ride to Khiva, A. By Captain 

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Robert Ord’s Atonement. By 

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Romance of a Black Veil. By 
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ot “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

Romance of a Poor Young Man, 

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lon 20 

Rory O'More. Bv Samuel Lover 20 
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Roy’s Wife. By G. J. Whyte- 

Hlelville ... 20 

Rupert Godwin. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

Russians at the Gates of Herat, 
The. By Charles Marvin . ... 10 


Sacred Nugget, The. By B. L. 

Far jeon 20 

Sailor’s Sweetheart, A. By W. 

Clark Russell 20 

Salem Chanel. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 
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490 Second Life, A. By Mrs. Alex- 

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101 Second Thoughts. By Rhoda 

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‘‘ Storm-Beaten :” God and The 
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Story of a Sin. By Helen B. 

Mather.s 20 

Story of Dorothy Grape, The, 
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Talk of the Town, The. By 

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That Beautiful Wretch. Bj" 

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281 

20 

158 

20 

20 4m 

145 

20 

673 

20 

610 

20 

20 53 

50 

90 

10 686 

10 

524 

20 

83 

20 

592 

10 511 

20 

550 

20 467 

10 

71 

10 

20 222 

20 21 

10 250 

20 

10 277 

10 

363 

10 

123 

20 

316 

20 

20 550 

117 

10 

77 

10 

343 ' 

10 

213 ' 

20 

20 696 

10 49 

20 136 

20 

( 11 ) 


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855 That Terrible Man. Bj' W. E. 
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184 Thirlby Hall. By W. E. Norris 
148 Thorns and Orangce-Blossoins. 
By Charlotte M. Braenie, au- 
thor ot “Dora Thorne” 

275 Three Brides, The. By Char- 
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124 Three Feathers. By Win. Black 
55 Three Guardsmen, The. By 

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382 Three Sisters. By Elsa D’Es- 

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367 Tie and Trick. By Hawley Smart 
485 Tinted Vapours. By J. Maclaren 

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503 Tinted Venus, The. By F. Anstey 
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663 Two Sides of the Shield, The. 

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211 Two Y’^ears Before the Mast. 

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407 Tylhey Hall. By Thomas Hood 


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Valerie’s Fate. By Mi’s. Alex- 
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Vanity Fair. By William M. 

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Venus's Doves. By Ida Ash- 
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Very Hard Cash. By Charles 

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Warden, The. By Anthony 

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Water-Babies, The. By the 

Rev. Charles Kingsley 10 

Waters of Hercules, The,'. ..... 20 

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Wedded Hands. A Novel. 20 


4 

340 

10 718 

20 634 

20 

508 

10 

735 

10 

20 

20 432 

10 

189 

20 27 

20 

10 

w 46 

20 59 

20 

20 

20 

10 

20 659 

20 9 

20 270 

270 

20 

621 

10 266 

10 512 

112 

20 

359 

20 

20 401 

195 

10 415 

20 344 

20 

312 

10 

458 

20 

79 

10 

10 628 

(12) 


TBE SEASIDE LIBBARY.— Pocket Edition. 


400 Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish, The. 

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637 What’s His Offence? A Novel. 20 
722 What’s Mine’s Mine. By George 

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220 Which Loved Him Best? By 
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236 Which Shall It Be? By Mrs. 

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627 White Heather. By Wm. Black 20 
70 White Wings: A Yachting Ro- 
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335 White Witcli, The.. .. 20 

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2.54 Wife's Secret, The, and Fair 
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20 Within an Inch of His Life. 

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705 AA^omau I Loved, The, and the 
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428 Z6ro: A Stoiy of IMonte-Carlo. 

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400 Which Shall it Be? 20 

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1032 That Beautiful Wretch 10 

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190 Henry Dunbar 20 

215 Birds of Prey 26 

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254 The Octoroon 10 

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482 The Cloven Foot 20 

500 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter 20 

519 Weavers and Weft 10 

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639 A Strange World 20 

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679 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

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641 Only a Clod 20 

649 Publicans and Sinners 20 

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705 Put to the Test (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

734 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daughter. Part 1 20 

734 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daughter. Part II 20 

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828 The Fatal Marriage 10 

837 Just as I Am; or, A Living Lie 20 

942 Asphodel 20 

1154 The Mistletoe Bough 20 

1265 Mount Royal 20 

1469 Flower and Weed 10 

1553 The Golden Calf 20 

1638 A Hasty Marriage (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

1715 Phantom Fortune. 20 

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311 The Professoc lif' 


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The Chaplet of Pearls 


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SECOND HALF, 



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CHARLOTTE M. YONGHS WORKS 

CONTAINED IN THE SEASIDE LIBRARY (POCKET EDITION): 

NO. PRICK. 

247 The Armourer’s Prentices 10 

275 The Tliree Brides 10 

535 Henrietta’s Wish 10 

563 The Two Sides of the Shield 20 

640 Nut tie’s Father 20 

665 The Dove in the Eagle’s Nest 20 

666 ]My Young Alcides 20 

739 The Caged Lion . . 20 

742 Love and Life 20 

790 The Chaplet of Pearls; or, The White and Black Ri- 

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790 The Chaplet of JPcarls; or, The White and Black Ri- 

baumont. Second half 30 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE EMPTY CEADLE. 

Eager to know 

The worst, and with that fatal certainty 
To terminate intolerable dread, 

He spurred his courser forward— all his fears 
Too surely are fulfilled. 

Southey. 

CoHTKAKY winds made the voyage of the “ Throstle 
much more tardy than had been reckoned on by Berenger^s 
impatience ; but hope was before him, and he often remem- 
bered his days in the little vessel as much happier than he 
had known them to be at the time. 

It was in the calm days of bright October that Captain 
Hobbs at length was putting into the little harbor nearest 
to La Sablerie. Berenger, on that morning, had for tho 
first time been seized by a fit of anxiety as to the impres- 
sion his face would make, with its terrible purple scar, 
great patch, and bald forehead, and had brought out a lit- 
tle black velvet mask, called a tour de nez, often used in 
riding to protect the complexion, intending to j^i’epare 
Eustacie for his disfigurement. He had fastened on a car- 
nation-colored sword-knot, woimd a scarf of the same color 
;across his shoulder, clasped a long ostrich plume into his 
broad Spanish hat, and looked out his deeply fringed Span- 
ish gloves; and Philip was laughing merrily, not to say 
rudely, at him, for trying to deck himself out so bravely. 

See, Master Hobbs, cried the boy in his high spirits, 
as he followed his brother on deck, “ you did not know you 
bad so fine a gallant on board. Here be braveries for my 
lady."" 

“ Hush^ Pliil/" broke in Berenger, who had hitherto 


6 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


taken all the raillery in perfect good part. ‘‘ What is amiss. 
Master Hobbs?^^ 

“I can not justly say, sir,” returned Master Hobbs, 
without taking his gaze off the coast, but by yonder 
banks and creeks this should be the Sables d^Olonne; and 
I do not see the steeple of La Sablerie, which has always 
been the landmark for the harbor of St. Julien.^^ 

What do you understand by that?” asked Berenger, 
more struck by his manner than his words. 

“ Well, sir, if I am right, a steeple that has stood three 
or four hundred years does not vanish out of sight like a 
cloud of smoke for nothing. It may be lightning, to be 
sure, or the Protestants may have had it down for Popery; 
but methinks they would have too^much Christian regard 
for poor mariners than to knock down the only landmark 
on this coast till you come to Nissard spire.” Then he 
hailed the man at the mast-head, demanding if he saw the 
steeple of La Sablerie. ‘‘ No, no, sir.” But as other por- 
tions of the land became clearer, there was no doubt that 
the ‘‘ Throstle ” was riglit in her bearings; so the skipper 
gave orders to cast anchor and lower a boat. The passengers 
would have pressed him with inquiries as to what he 
thought the absence of his landmark could portend ; but 
he hurried about, and shouted orders, with the deaf des- 
potism of a nautical commander; and only when all was 
made ready, turned round and said, “ Now, sir, may be you 
had best let me go ashore first, and find out how the land 
lies.” 

“ Never!” said Berenger, in an agony of impatience. 

“I thought so,” said the captain. ‘‘ Well, then, sir, 
are your fellows ready? Armed? All right. ” 

So Berenger descended to the boat, followed by Philip; 
next came the captain, and then the two serving-men. Six 
of the crew were ready to row them to the shore, and were 
bidden by their captain to return at once to the vessel, and 
only return on a signal from him. The surging rush of 
intense anxiety, sure to precede the destined moment of 
the consummation of hope long deferred, kept Berenger 
silent, choked by something between fear and prayer; but 
Philip, less engrossed, asked Master Hobbs if it were not 
strange that" none of the inhabitants of the squalid little 
huts on the shore had not put out to greet them in some 
of the boats that were drawn up on the Beach* 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


7 


‘‘ Poor wretches/^ said Hobbs; “ they scarce Know friend 
from foe, and are slow to run their heads into the hone's 
mouth. Strange fallows have the impudence to sail under 
our flag at times. 

However, as they neared the low, flat, sandy shore, a few 
red caps peeped out at the cottage-doors, and then, appar- 
ently gaining confldence from the survey, some wiry, active 
figures appeared, and were hailed by Hobbs. His Bor- 
deaux trade had rendered him master of the coast lan- 
guage; and a few incomprehensible shouts between him and 
the natives resulted in a line being thrown to them, and 
the boat dragged as near as possible to the landing-place, 
when half a dozen ran up, splashing with their bare legs, to 
offer their shoulders for the transport of the passengers, 
both of whom were seized upon before they were aware, 
Philip struggling with all his might, till a call from Cap- 
tain Hobbs warned him to resign himself; and then he be- 
came almost helpless with laughter at the figure cut by the 
long-legged Berenger upon a small fisherman^s back. 

They were landed. Could it be that Berenger was only 
two miles — only half an hour’s walk from Eustacie? The 
bound his heart gave as he touched the shore seemed to 
stifle him. He could not believe it. Yet he knew how 
fully he had believed it, the next moment, when he listened 
to what the fishermen were saying to Captain Hobbs: 

“ Hid monsieur wish to go to La Sablerie? Ah! then he 
did not know what had happened. The soldiers had been 
there; there had been a great burning. They had been 
out in their boats at sea, but they had seen the sky red — red 
as a furnace, all night; and the steeple was down. Surely, 
monsieur had missed the steeple that was a guide to all 
poor seafarers; and now they had to go all the W»y to 
Branco ur to sell their fish.” 

“ And the townspeople?” Hobbs asked. 

“Ah! poor things; Twas pity of them, for they were 
honest folk to deal with, even if they were jaeretics. They 
loved fish at other seasons if not in Lent; and it seemed 
but a fair return to go up and bury as many of them as 
were not burned to nothing in their church; and Horn Col- 
ombeau, the good priest of Hissard, has said it was a pious 
work; and he was a saint, if any one was.” 

“ Alack, sir,” said Hobbs, laying his hand on the arm of 
Berenger, who seemed neither to have breathed nor moved 


8 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


while the man was speaking; “ I feared that there had been 
some such bloody work when I missed the steeple. But 
take heart yet; your lady is very like to have been. out of 
the way. We might make for La Eochelle, and there 
learn!"" Then, again to the fisherman, “ None escaped, 
fellow?"" 

“Not one,"" replied the man. “ They say that one of 
the great folks was in a special rage with them for shelter- 
ing the lady he should have wedded, but who had broken 
convent and turned heretic; and they had victualed Mont- 
gomery "s pirates too. "" 

“ And the lady?"" continued Hobbs, ever trying to get a 
more supporting hold of his young charge, in case the rigid 
tension of his limbs should suddenly relax. 

“ I can not tell, sir. I am a poor fisher; but I could 
guide you to the place where old Gillot is always poking 
about. He listened to their preachings, and knows more 
than we do. "" 

“ Let us go,"" said Berenger, at once beginning to stride 
along in his heavy boots through the deep sand. Philip, 
who had hardly understood a word of the patois, caught 
hold of him, and begged to be told what had happened; 
but Master Hobbs drew the boy off, and explained to him 
and to the two men what were the dreadful tidings that had 
wrought such a change in Berenger"s demeanor. The way 
over the shifting sands was toilsome enough to all the rest 
of the party; but Berenger scarcely seemed to feel the deep 
plunge at every step as they almost plowed their way along 
for the weary two miles, before a few green bushes and 
half-choked trees showed that they were reaching the con- 
fines of the sandy waste. Berenger had not uttered a word 
the \<|iiole time, and his silence hushed the others. The 
ground began to rise, grass was seen still struggling to 
grow, and presently a large straggling mass of black and 
gray ruins revealed themselves, with the remains of a once 
well-trodden road leading to them. But the road led to a 
gate-way choked by a fallen jamb and barred door, and the 
guide led them round the ruins of the wall to the opening 
where the breach had been. The sand was already blow- 
ing in, and no doubt veiled much; for the streets were 
scarcely traceable through remnants of houses more or less 
dilapidated, with shreds of broken or burned household fur- 
niture within them. 


the chaplet of peaels. 9 

^‘Ask him for laruedes Trots Fees/’ hoarsely whis- 
pered Bereiiger* 

The fisherman nodded, but soon seemed at fault; and an 
old man^ followed by a few children, soon appearing, laden 
with pieces of fuel, he appealed to him as Father Gillot, 
and asked whether he could find the street. The old man 
seenied at liome in the ruins, and led the way readily. 
“ Did he know the Widow Laurent^s house 
“ Mademoiselle* Laurent! Full well he knew her; a 

f ood pious soul was she, always ready to die for the truth, 
e added, as he read sympathy in the faces round; “ and 
no doubt she had witnessed a good confession. ” 

“ Knew he aught of the lady she had lodged?^^ 

He knew nothing of ladies. Something he had heard 
of the good widow having sheltered that shining light, Isaac 
Gardon, quenched, no doubt, in the same destruction; but 
for his part, he had a daughter in one of the isles out there, 
who always sent for him if she suspected danger here on 
the mainland, and he had only returned to his poor farm a 
day or two after Michaelmas. ” So saying, he led them to 
the threshold of a ruinous building, in the very center, as 
it were, of the desolation, and said, That, gentlemen, is 
where the poor honest widow kept her little shop.^^ 

Black, burned, dreary, lay the hospitable abode. The 
building had fallen, but the beams of the upper fioor had 
fallen aslant, so as to shelter a portion of the lower room, 
where the red-tile pavement, the hearth with the gray ashes 
of the harmless home-fire, some unbroken crocks, a chain, 
and a sabot, were still visible, making the contrast of drear- 
iness doubly mournful. 

Berenger had stepped over the threshold, with his hat in 
his hand, as if the ruin were a sacred place to him, and 
stood gazing in a transfixed, deadened way. The captain 
asked where the remains were. 

Our people, said the old man and the fisher, “ laid 
them by night in the earth near the church. 

Just then Berenger^ s gaze fell on something half hidden 
under the fallen timbers. He instantly sprung forward, 
and used all his strength to drag.it out in so headlong a 
manner that all the rest hurried to prevent his reckless pro- 
ceedings from bringing the heavy beams down on his hc&d. 

* This was the title of bourgcoise wives, for many years, in France. 


10 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


When brought to light, the object proved to be one of the 
dark, heavy, wooden cradles used by the French peasantry, 
shining with age, but untouched by fire. 

‘‘Look in,"" Berenger signed to Philip, his own eyes 
averted, his mouth set. 

The cradle was empty, totally empty, save for a woollen 
covering, a little mattress, and a string of small yellow shells 
threaded. 

Berenger held out his hand, grasped the baby-plaything 
convulsively, then dropped upon his knees clasping his hands 
over his ashy face, the string of shells still wound among 
his fingers. Perhaps he had hitherto hardly realized the 
existence of his child, and was solely wrajjped up in the 
thought of his wife; but the wooden cradle, the homely toy, 
stirred up fresh depths of feeling; he saw Enstacie with her 
tender sweetness as a mother, he beheld the little likeness 
of her in the cradle; and oh! that this should have been 
the end! Unable to repress a moan of anguish from a 
bursting heart, he laid his face against the senseless wood, 
and kissed it again and again, then lay motionless against 
it save for the long-drawn gasps and sobs that shook his 
frame. Philip, torn to the heart, would have almost for- 
cibly drawn him away; but Master Uobbs, with tears run- 
ning down his honest cheeks, withheld the boy. Don"t 
ye. Master Thistlewood, "twill do him good. Poor young 
gentleman! I know how it was when I came home and 
found our first little lad, that we had thought so much on, 
had been taken. But then he was safe laid in his own 
church-yard, and his mother was there to meet me; while 
your poor brother — Ah! God comfort him!"" 

“ ie pauvre monsieur!” exclaimed the old peasant, 
struck at the sight of his grief, ‘‘ was it then his child? And 
he, no doubt, lying wounded elsewhere while God"s hand 
was heavy on this place. Yet he might hear more. They 
said the priest came down and carried ofi the little ones to 
be bred up in convents."" 

‘‘ Who? — where?"" asked Berenger, raising his head as if 
catching at a straw in this drowning of all his hopes. 

"Tis true,"" added the fisherman. It was the holy 
priest of Nissard, for he sent down to St. Julienfor a wom- 
an to nurse the babes. "" 

To Nissard, then,"" said Berenger, rising. 

‘‘ It is but a chance,"" said the old Huguenot; “ many of 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


11 


the innocents were with their mothers in yonder church. 
Better for them to perish like the babes of Bethlehem than 
to be bred up in the house of Baal; but perhaps monsieur 
is English, and if so he might yet obtain the child. Yet 
he must not hope too much."” 

‘‘ No, for there was many a little corpse among those we 
buried,^’ said the fisher. “Will the gentleman seethe 
place?^^ 

“ Oh, no!^^ exclaimed Philip, understanding the actions, 
and indeed many of the words; “ this place will kill him.^-’ 

“ To the grave, said Berenger, as if he heard nothing. 

“ See,^^ added Philip, “ there are better things than 
graves,'’^ and he pointed to a young green sucker of a vine, 
which, stimulated by the burned soil, had shot up between 
the tiles of the fioor. “ Look, there is hope to meet you 
even here. ** 

^ Berenger merely answered by gathering a leaf from the 
vine and putting it into his bosom ; and Philip, whom only 
extreme need could have thus inspired, perceived that he 
accepted it as the augury of hope. 

Berenger turned to bid the two men bear the cradle with 
them, and then followed the old man out into the place, 
once a pleasant open paved square, now grass-grown and 
forlorn. On one side lay the remains of the church. The 
Huguenots had been so predominant at La Sablerie as to 
have engrossed the building, and it had therefore shared 
the general destruction, and lay in utter, desolate ruin, a 
mere shell, and the once noble spire, the mariner^s guiding 
star, blown up with gunpowder in the lawless rage of An- 
jou^s army, one of the most cruel that ever desolated the 
country. Beyond lay the burial-ground, in unspeakable 
dreariness. The crosses of the Catholic dead had been lev- 
eled by the fanaticism of the Huguenots, and though a 
great dominant stone cross raised on steps had been re- 
erected, it stood uneven, tottering, and desolate among 
nettles, weeds, and briers. There seemed to have been a 
few deep trenches dug to receive the bodies of the many 
victims of the siege, and only rudely and slightly filled in 
with loose earth, on which Philip treading had nearly sunk 
in, so much to his horror that he could hardly endure the 
long contemplation in which his brother stood gazing on 
the dismal scene, as if to hear it away with him. Did the 
fair being he had left in a hinge’s j)alace sleep her last sleep 


12 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


amid the tangled grass, the thistles and briers that grew so 
close that it was hardly possible to keep from stumbling 
over them, where all memorials of friend or foe were alike 
obliterated? Was a resting-place among these nameless 
graves the best he could hope for the wife whose eyes he 
had hoped by this time would be answering his own — was 
this her shelter from foe, from sword, famine, and fire? 

A great sea-bird, swooping along with broad wings and 
wild wailing cry, completed the weird dismay that had 
seized on Philip, and clutching at his brother's cloak, he 
exclaimed, Berry, Berry, let us be gone, or we shall both 
be distraught!'’^ 

Berenger yielded passively, but when the ruins of the 
town had been again crossed, and the sad little party, after 
amply rewarding the old man, were about to return to St. 
Julien, he stood still, saying, “ Which is the way to Nis- 
sard?^'’ and, as the men pointed to the south, he added, 
‘ Show me the way thither. 

Captain Hobbs now interfered. He knew the position 
of Nissard, among dangerous sand-banks, between which a 
boat could only venture at the higher tides, and by day- 
light. To go the six miles thither at present would make 
it .almost impossible to return to the “Throstle'’'’ that 
night, and it was absolutely necessary that he at least 
sliould do this. He therefore wished the young gentleman 
to return with him on board, sleep there, and be put ashore 
at Nissard as sOon as it should be 230ssible in the morning. 
But Berenger shook his head. He could not rest for a mo- 
ment till he had ascertained the fate of Eustacie'’s child. 
Action alone could quench the horror of Avhat he had recog- 
nized as her own lot, and the very pursuit of this one 
thread of hope seemed needful to him to make it sub- 
stantial. He would hear of nothing but walking at once 
to Hissard; and Captain Hobbs, finding it impossible to 
debate the point with one so dazed and crushed with grief, 
and learning from the fishermen that not only was the 
priest one of the kindest and most hospitable men living, 
but that there was a tolerable cabaret not far from the 
house, selected from the loiterers who had accompanied 
them from St. J ulien a trustworthy-looking, active lad as 
a guide, and agreed with Philip to come to Nissard in his 
boat with the high tide on the morrow, either to concert 
measures for obtaining possession of the lost infant, or, if 


!rHE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


13 


all were in vain, to fetch them off. Then he, with the 
mass of stragglers from St. Julien, went oft direct for the 
coast, while the two young brothers, their two attendants, 
and the fishermen, turned southward along the summit of 
the dreary sand-banks. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE GOOD PRIEST OF HISSARD. 

Till at tlie set of sun all tracks and ways 
In darkness lay enshrouded. And e’en thus 
The utmost limit of the great profound 
At length we reach’d, where in dark gloom and mist 
Cimmeria’s people and their city lie 
Enveloped ever. 

Odyssey (Musgrove). 

The October afternoon had set in before the brothers 
were on the way to Nissard; and in spite of Berenger's ex- 
cited mood, the walk through the soft, sinking sand could 
not be speedily performed. It was that peculiar sand-drift 
which is the curse of so many coasts, slowly, silently, 
irresistibly flowing, blowing, creeping in, and gradually 
choking all vegetation and habitation. Soft and almost 
impalpable, it lay heaped in banks 3rielding as air, and yet 
far more than deep enough to swallow up man and horse. 
Xay, tops of trees, summits of chimneys, told what it had 
already swallowed. The whole scene far and wide present- 
ed nothing but the lone, tame undulations, liable to be 
changed by every wind, and solitary beyond expression — a 
few rabbits scudding hither and thither, or a sea-gull float- 
ing with white, ghostly wings in the air, being the only liv- 
ing things visible. On the one hand a dim, purple horizon 
showed that the inhabited country lay miles inland; on the 
other lay the pale, gray, misty expanse of sea, on which 
Philipps eyes could lovingly discern the ‘‘ Throstle ^s 
masts. 

That view was Philips’s chief comfort. The boy was feel- 
ing more eerie and uncomfortable than ever he had been 
before as he plodded along, sinking deep with every step 
almost up to liis ankles in the sand, on which the barefoot- 
ed guide ran lightly, and Beranger, though sinking no less 
deeply, seemed insensible to all inconveniences. This 


14 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


desolateness was well-nigli unbearable; no one dared to 
speak while Beranger thus moved on in the unapproach- 
ableness of his great grief, and Philip presently began to 
feel a dreamy sense that they had all thus been moving on 
for years, that this was the world’s end, the land of 
shadows, and that his brother was a ghost already. Be- 
sides vague alarms like these, there was the dismal English 
and Protestant prejudice in full force in Philip’s mind, 
which regarded the present ground as necessarily hostile, 
and all Frenchmen, above all French priests, as in league 
to cut olf every Englishman and Protestant. He believed 
himself in a country full of murderers, and was walking on 
with the one determination that his brother should not rush 
on danger without him, and that the Popish rogues should 
be kept in mind that there was an English ship in sight. 
Alas! that consolation was soon lost, for a dense gray mist 
was slowly creeping in from the sea, and blotted out the 
vessel, then gathered in closer, and obliterated all land- 
marks. Gradually it turned to a heavy rain, and about the 
same time the ground on which they walked became no 
longer loose sand-hills, but smooth and level. It was 
harder likewise from the wet, and tliis afforded better walk- 
ing, but there lay upon it fragments of weed and shell, as 
though it were liable .to be covered by the sea, and there 
was a low, languid plash of the tide, which could not be 
seen. Twilight began to deepen the mist. The guide was 
evidently uneasy; he sidled up to Philip, and began to ask 
what he — hitherto obstinately deaf and contemptuous to 
French — was very slow to comprehend. At last he found 
it was a question how near it was to All Soul’s-day; and 
then came an equally amazing query whether the gentle- 
man’s babe had been baptized; for it appeared that on All 
Souls ’-day the spirits of unchristened infants had the power 
of rising from the sands in a bewildering mist, and leading 
wayfarers into the sea. And the poor guide, white and 
drenched, vowed he never would have undertaken this walk 
if he had only thought of this. These slaughters of 
heretics must so much have augmented the number of the 
poor little spirits; and no doubt monsieur would be specially 
bewildered by one so nearly concerned with him. Philip, 
half frightened, could not help stepping forward and pull- 
ing Berenger by the cloak to make him aware of this 
strange peril; but he did not get much comfort. “ Bap- 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


15 


tized? Yes; you know she was, by the old nurse. Let 
me alone, I say. I would follow' her wherever she called 
me, the innocent, and glad — the sooner the bettei*. ’ ^ 

^ And he shook his brother olf with a sadness and impa- 
tience so utterly unapproachable, that Philip, poor boy, 
could only watch his tall figure in the wide cloak and 
slouched hat, stalking on ever more indistinct in the gloom, 
while his much confused mind tried to settle the theological 
point whether the old nurse ^s baptism were valid enough 
to prevent poor little Berangere from becoming one of 
these mischievous deluders; and all this was varied by the 
notion of Captain Hobbs picking up their corpses on the 
beach, and of Sir Marmaduke bewailing his only son. 

At last a strange muffled sound made him start in the 
dead silence, but the guide hailed the sound with a joyful 
ciy— 

“Hola! Blessings on Notre Dame and holy Father 
Colombeau, now are we saved And on Philipps hasty 
interrogation; he explained that it was from the bells of 
Nissard, which the good priest always caused to be rung 
during these sea-fogs, to disperse all evil beings, and guide 
the wanderers. 

The guide strode on manfully, as the sound became 
clearer and nearer, and Philip was infinitely relieved to be 
free from all supernatural anxieties, and to have merely to 
guard against the wiles of a Popish priest — a being almost 
as fabulously endowed in his imagination as poor little Be- 
rengere^s soul could be in that of the fisherman. 

The drenching Atlantic mist had wetted them all to the 
skin, and closed round them so like a solid wall, that they 
had almost lost sight of each other, and had nothing but 
the bells ^ voices to comfort them, till quite suddenly there 
was a light upon the mist, a hazy reddish gleam — a window 
seemed close to them. The guide, heartily thanking Our 
Lady and St. Julian, knocked at a door, which opened at 
once into a warm, bright, superior sort of kitchen, where a 
neatly dressed elderly peasant woman exclaimed, “ Wel- 
come, poor souls! Enter, then. Here, good father, are 
some bewildered creatures. Eh! wrecked are you, good 
folks, or lost in the fog?^'’ 

At the same moment there came from behind the screen 
that shut off the fire from the door, a benignant-looking. 


IG 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


hale old man in a cassock, with long white hair on his 
shoulders, and a cheerful face, ruddy from the sea-wind. 

“Welcome, my friends, he said. “Thanks to the 
saints who have guided you safely. You are drenched. 
Come to the fire at once. 

And as they moved on into the full light of the fire and 
the rude iron lamp by which he had been reading, and he 
saw the draggled plumes and other apj)urtenances that 
marked the two youths as gentlemen, he added, “ Are you 
wrecked, messieurs? We will do our poor best for your ac- 
commodation;’^ and while both mechanically murmured a 
word of thanks, and removed their soaked hats, the good 
man exclaimed, as he beheld Berenger’s ashy face, with the 
sunken eyes and deep scars, “ Monsieur should come to bed 
at once. He is apparently recovering from a severe 
wound. This way, sir; Jolitte shall make you some hot 
tisane. ” 

“Wait, sir,” said Berenger, very slowly, and his voice 
sounding hollow from exhaustion; “ they say that you can 
tell me of my child. Let me hear.” 

“ Monsieur’s child!” exclaimed the bewildered curate, 
looking from him to Philip, and then to the guide, who 
poured out a whole stream of explanation before Philip had 
arranged three words of French. 

“You hear, sir,” said Berenger, as the man finished: 
“ I came hither to seek my wife, the Lady of Ribaumont. ” 

“ Eh!” exclaimed the cure, “ do I then see Monsieur le 
Marquis de Nid-de-Merle?” 


“Ho!” cried Berenger; “ no, I am not that scelerat ! I 
am her true husband, the Baron de Ribaumont. ” 

“ The Baron de Ribaumont perished at the St. Bartholo- 
mew,” said the cure, fixing liis^ eyes on him, as though to 
confute an impostor. 

“ Ah, would that I had!” said Berenger. “ I was baix^ly 
saved with the life that is but misery now. I came to seek 
her — I found what you know. They told me that you 
saved the children. Ah, tell me where mine is? — all that 
is left me.” 

“ A few poor babes I was permitted to rescue, but very 
few. But let me understand to whom I speak,” he added. 



“ I am her husband, married at five years old — contract 
renewed last year. It was he whom you call Hid-de-Merle 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


17 


who fell on me, and left me for dead. A faitlifid servant 
saved my life, but I have lain sick in England till now, 
when her letter to my mother brought me to La Sablerie, 
to find — to find this. Oh, sir, have pity on me! Tell me 
if you know anything of her, or if you can give me her 
child? 

‘ ‘ The orphans I was able to save are — the boys at nurse 
here, the girls with the good nuns at Lucon,^" said the 
priest, with infinite pity in his look. “ Should you know 
it, sir?^’ 

“ I would — I should, said Berenger. “ But it is a girl. 
Ah, would that it were here! But you — you, sir — ^you 
know more than these fellows. Is there no — no hope of 
herself?^ ^ 

‘‘ Alas! I fear I can give you none,"’^ said the priest; 
“ but I will tell all I know; only I would fain see you eat, 
rest, and be dried. 

‘‘ How can I?^^ gasped he, allowing liimself, however, 
to sink into a chair; and the priest spoke: 

‘‘ PerhajDS you know, sir, that the poor lady fled from 
her friends, and threw herself upon the Huguenots. , All 
trace had been lost, when, at a banquet given by the Mayor 
of Lncon, there appeared some ])atisseries, wliich some 
ecclesiastics, who had enjoyed the hospitality of Bellaise, 
recognized as peculiar to the convent there, where she had 
been brought up. They were presented to the mayor by 
his friend, Bailli la Grasse, who had boasted of the excel- 
lent confitures of the heretic pastor ^s daughter that lodged 
in the Town of La Sablerie. The place was in disgrace for 
having afforded shelter and supplies to Montgomery's pirate 
crews, and there were narrations of outrages committed on 
Catholics. The army were enraged by their failure before 
La Eochelle; in effect, it was resolved to make an example, 
when on Monsieur de Nid-de-Merle’s summons, all knowl- 
edge of the lady was denied. Is it possible that she was 
indeed not there?" ^ 

Berenger shook his head. “ She was indeed there,"" he 
said, with an irrepressible groan. ‘‘Was there no mercy 
— none?"" 

“Ask not, sir,"" said the compassionate priest; “the 
flesh shrinks, though there may be righteous justice. A 
pillaged town, when men are enraged, is like a place of 
devils unchained. I reached it only after it had been taken 


18 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


by assault, when all was flame and blood. Ask me no 
more; it would be worse for you to hear, than me to tell,^^ 
he concluded, shuddering, but laying his hand kindly on 
Berenger’s arm. “ At least it is ended now, and God is 
more merciful than men. Many died by the bombs cast 
into the city, and she for whom you ask certainly fell not 
alive into the hands of those who sought her. Take com- 
fort, sir; there is One who watches and takes count of our 
griefs. Sir,'’^ turning to Philip, ‘‘this gentleman is too 
much spent with sorrow to bear this cold and damp. Aid 
me, I entreat, to persuade him to lie down.^^ 

Philip understood the priest^s French far better than 
that of the peasants, and added persuasions that Berenger 
was far top much exhausted and stunned to resist. To 
spend a night in a Popish priest^s house would once have 
seemed to Philip a shocking alternative, yet here he was, 
heartily assisting in removing the wet garments in which 
his brother had sat only too long, and was heartily relieved 
to lay him down in the priest^s own bed, even though there 
was an image over the head, which, indeed, the boy never 
saw. -He only saw his brother turn away from the light 
with a low, heavy moan, as if he would fain be left alone 
with his sorrow and his crushed hopes. 

Nothing could be kinder than Dom Colombeau, the 
priest of Nissard. He saw to the whole of his guests being 

J 3ut into some sort of dry habiliments before they sat round 
lis table to eat of the savory mess in the great pot-au-feu, 
which had, since their arrival, received additional in- 
gredients, and moreover sundry villagers had crept into the 
house. Whenever the good father supped at home, any of 
his flock were welcome to drop in to enjoy his hospitality. 
After a cup of hot cider round, they carried off the fisher- 
man to lodge in one of their cottages. Shake-downs were 
found for the others, and Philip, wondering what was to 
become of the good host himself, gathered that he meant 
to spend such part of the night on the kitchen-floor as he 
did not pass in prayer in the church for the poor young 
gentleman, who was in such affliction. Philip was not cer- 
tain whether to resent this as an impertinence or an attack 
on their Protestant principles; but he was not sure, either, 
that the priest was aware what was their religion, and was 
still less certain of his own comprehension of these pious 
intentions; he decided that, any way, it was better not to 


THE CHAPLET OP PEARLS. 


19 


make a fool of himself. Still, the notion of the mischiev- 
ousness of priests was so rooted in his head, that he con- 
sulted Humfrey on the expediency of keeping watch all 
night, but was sagaciously answered that these French 
rogues don^’t do any hurt unless they be brought up to it, 
and the place was as safe as old Hurst. 

In fact, Philipps vigilance woidd have been strongly 
against nature. He never awoke till full daylight and 
morning sun were streaming through the vine-leaves round 
the window, and then, to his dismay, he saw that Berenger 
had left his bed, and was gone. Suspicions of foul play 
coming over him in full force as he gazed round on much 
that he considered as ‘‘ Popish furniture, he threw on his 
clothes, and hastened to open the door, when, to his great 
relief, he saw Berenger hastily writing at a table under the 
window, and Smithers standing by waiting for the billet. 

‘‘ I am sending Smithers on board, to ask Hobbs to bring 
our cloak bags,^^ said Berenger, as his brother entered. 
‘‘ We must go on to Lucon. 

He spoke briefly and decidedly, and Philip was satisfled 
to see him quite calm . and collected — white indeed, and 
with the old haggard look, and the great scar very purple 
instead of red, which was always a bad sign with him. He 
was not disposed to answer questions; he shortly said, He 
had slept not less than usual, which Philip knew meant 
very little; and he had evidently made up his mind, and 
was resolved not to let himself give way. If his beacon of 
hope had been so suddenly, frightfully quenched, he still 
was kept from utter darkness by straining his eyes and forc- 
ing his steps to follow the tiny, flickering spark that re- 
mained. 

The priest was at his morning mass; and so soon as Be- 
renger had given his note to Smithers, and sent him off with 
a flsherman to the “ Throstle, ^Mie took up his hat, and 
went out upon the beach, that lay glistening in the morn- 
ing sun, then turned straight toward the tall spire of the 
church, which had been their last night's guide. Philip 
caught his cloak. 

“ You are never going there, Berenger?" 

“ Vex me not now," was all the reply he got. “ There 
the dead and living meet together. " 

“ But, brother, they will take you for one of their own 
sort." 


20 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


‘‘Lot tliem. 

Philip was right that it was neither a prudent nor con- 
sistent proceeding, but Berenger had little power of reflec- 
tion, and his impulse afc present bore him into the church 
belonging to his native faith and land, without any defined 
feeling, save that it was peace to kneel there among the 
scattered worshipers, who came and went with their fish- 
baskets in their hands, and to liear the low chant of the 
priest and his assistant from within the screen. 

Philip meantime marched up and down outside in much 
annoyance, until the priest and his brother came out, when 
the first thing he heard the good Colombeau say was, “ I 
would have called upon you before, my son, but that I 
feared you were a Huguenot. ^ ^ 

‘‘lam an English Protestant,^ ^ said Berenger; “but, 
ah! sir, I needed comfort too much to stay away from 
prayer. 

Pere Colombeau looked at him in perplexity, thinking 
perhaps that here might be a promising convert, if there 
were only time to work on him; but Berenger quitted the 
subject at once, asking the distance to Lucon. 

“ A full day’s journey,” answered Pere Colombeau, and 
added, “ I am sorry you are indeed a Huguenot. It 
was what I feared last night, but I feared to add to your 
grief. The nuns are not permitted to deliver up children 
to Huguenot relations. 

“ I am her father!” exclaimed Berenger, indignantly. 

“ That goes for nothing, according to the rules of the 
Church,” said the priest. “ The Church cannot yield her 
children to heresy. ” 

“But w^e in England are not Calvinists,” cried Berenger. 
“We are not like your Huguenots.” 

“The Church would make no difference,” said the 
priest. “ Stay, sir,” as Berenger struck his own forehead, 
and was about to utter a fierce invective. “Remember 
that if your child lives, it is owing to the pity of the good 
nuns. You seem not far from the bosom of the Church. 
Did you but return — ” 

“ It is vain to speak of that,” said Berenger, quickly. 

‘ ‘ Say, sir, would an order from the king avail to open these 
doors?” 

“ Of course it would, if you have the influence to obtain 
one. ” 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


n 

I have, I have,'’^ cried Berenger, eagerly. “ The king 
has been my good friend already. Moreover, my English 
grandfather will deal with the queen. The heiress of our 
house can not be left in a foreign nunnery. Say, sir,^^ he 
added, turning to the priest, “ if I went to Lucon at once, 
would they answer me and let me see my child 

The priest considered a moment, and answered, “ No, 
sir, I think not. The prioress is a holy woman, very strict, 
and with a horror of heretics. She came from the convent 
of Bellaise, and would therefore at once know your name, 
and refuse all dealings with you. 

“ She could not do so, if I brought an order from the 
king. 

“ Certainly not. 

“ Then to Paris And laying his hand on Philipps 
shoulder, he asked the boy whether he had understood, and 
explained that he must go at once to Paris — riding-post — 
and obtain the order from the king. 

To Paris — to be murdered again said Philip, in dis- 
may. 

“ They do not spend their time there in murder, said 
Berenger. And now is the time, while the savage villain 
Narcisse is with his master in Poland. I can not but go, 
Philip; we both waste words. You shall take home a let- 
ter to my lord. 

“ I — I go not home without you,” said Philip, doggedly. 

“ I can not take you, Phil; I have no warrant.” 

“ I have warrant for going, though. My father said he 
was easier about you with me at your side. Where you go, 
I go.” 

The brothers understood ‘each other ^s ways so well, that 
Berenger knew the intonation in Philipps voice that meant 
that nothing should make him give way. He persuaded 
no more, only took measures for the journey, in which the 
kind priest gave him friendly advice. There was no doubt 
that the good man pitied him sincerely, and wished him 
success more than perhaps he strictly ought to have done, 
unless as a possible convert. Of money for the journey 
there was no lack, for Berenger had brought a considerable 
sum, intending to reward all who had befriended Eustacie, 
as well as to fit her out for the voyage; and this, perhaps, 
with his papers, he had brought ashore to facilitate his en- 
trance into La Sablerie— that entrance wliich, alas! he had 


22 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


found only too easy. He had therefore only to obtain 
horses and a guide, and this could be done at La Motte- 
Achard, where the party could easily be guided on foot, or 
conveyed in a boat if the fog should not set in again, but 
all the coast-line of Hissard was dangerous in autumn and 
winter; nay, even this veiy August an old man, with his 
daughter, her infant, and a donkey, had been found bewil- 
dered between the creeks on a sand-bank, where they stood 
still and patient, like a picture of the Flight into Egypt, 
when an old fisherman found them, and brought them to 
the beneficent shelter of the Presb3rtere. 

Stories of this kind were told at the meal that was some- 
thing partaking of the nature of both breakfast and early 
dinner, but where Berenger eat little and spoke less. 
Philip watched him anxiously; the boy thought the jour- 
ney a perilous experiment every way, but, boyishly, was re- 
solved neither to own his fears of it nor to leave his brother. 
External perils he was quite ready to face, and he fancied 
that his English birth would give him some power of pro- 
tecting Berenger, but he was more reasonably in dread of 
the present shock bringing on such an illness as the last re- 
lapse; and if Berenger lost his senses again, what should 
they do? He even ventured to hint at this danger, but 
Berenger answered, ‘ ‘ That will scarce happen again. My 
head is stronger now. Besides, it was doing nothing, and 
hearing her truth profaned, that crazed me. No one at 
least will do that again. But if you wish to drive me fran- 
tic again, the way would be to let Hobbs carry me home 
without seeking her child. 

Philip bore this in mind when, with flood-tide. Master 
Hobbs landed, and showed himself utterly dismayed at the 
turn affairs had taken. He saw the needlessness of going 
to Lucon without royal authority; indeed, he thought it 
possible that the very application there might give the 
alarm, and cause all tokens of the Childs’s identity to be de- 
stroyed, in order to save her from her heretic relations. 
But he did not at all approve of the young gentlemen going 
off to Paris at once. It was against his orders. He felt 
bound to take them home as he had brought them, and 
they might then make a fresh start if it so pleased them; 
but how could he return to my lord and Sir Duke without 
them? “ Mr. Eibaumont might be right — it was not for 
him to say a father ought not to look after his child — yet 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


23 


he was but a stripling himself, and my lord had said, ‘ Mas- 
ter Hobbs, I trust him to you/ He would clearly have 
liked to have called in a boat^s crew, mastered the young 
gentlemen, and carried them on board as captives; but as 
this was out of his power, he was obliged to yield the point. 
He disconsolately accepted the letters in which Berenger 
had explained all, and in which he promised to go at once 
to Sir Francis VValsingham'’s at Paris, to run into no need- 
less danger, and to watch carefully over Philip; and craved 
pardon, in a respectful but yet manly and determined tone, 
for placing his duty to his lost, deserted child above his 
submission to his grandfather. Then engaging to look out 
for a signal on the coast if he should sail to Bordeaux in 
January, to touch and take the passengers off. Captain 
Hobbs took leave, and the brothers were left to their own 
resources. 


CHAPTEE XXV. 

THE VELVET COACH. 

Xo, my good Lord, Diana — 

AlVs Well that Ends Well. 

A LATE autumn journey from the west coast to Paris was 
a more serious undertaking in the sixteenth century than 
the good seaman Master Hobbs was aware of, or he would 
have used stronger dissuasive measures against such an 
undertaking by the two youths, when the elder was in so 
frail a state of health; but there had been a certain decep- 
tive strength and vigor about young Kibaumont while under 
strong excitement and determination, and the whole party 
fancied him far fitter to meet the hardships than was really 
the case. Philip Thistlewood always recollected that jour- 
ney as the most distressing period of his life. 

They were out of the ordinary highways, and therefore 
found the hiring of horses often extremely difficult. They 
had intended to purchase, but found no animals that, as 
Philip said, they would have accepted as a gift, though at 
every wretched inn where they had to wait while the coun- 
try was scoured for the miserable jades, their proposed re- 
quirements fell lower and lower. Hens of smoke, dirt, 
and boorishness were the great proportion of those inns, 
where they were compelled to take refuge by the breaking 


24 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


down of one or other of the beasts, Or by stress of weather* 
Snow, rain, thaw and frost alternated, each variety render- 
ing the roads impassable; and at the best, the beasts could 
seldom be urged beyond a 'walk, fetlock-deep in mire or 
water. Worse than all, Berenger, far from recovered, and 
under the heavy oppression of a heartrending grief, could 
hardly fail to lose the ground that he had gained under the 
influence of hope. The cold seemed to fix itself on the 
wound in his cheek, terrible pain and swelling set in, de- 
priving him entirely of sleep, permitting him to take no 
nourishment but fragments of soft crumbs soaked in wine 
or broth — when the inns afforded any such fare — and ren- 
dering speech excessively painful, and at last unintelligible. 

Happily this was not until Philip and Humfrey both had 
picked up all the most indispensable words to serve their 
needs, and storming could be done in any language. Be- 
sides, they had fallen in at La Motte-Achard with a sharp 
fellow named Guibert, who had been at sea, and knew a lit- 
tle English, was a Norman by birth, knew who the Baron 
de Kibaumont was, and was able to make himself generally 
useful, though ill supplying the place of poor Osbert, who 
would have been invaluable in the present predicament. 
Nothing was so much dreaded by any of the party as that 
their chief should become utterly unable to proceed. Once 
let him be laid up at one of these little auherges, and Pliilip 
felt as if all would be over with him ; and he himself was 
always the most restlessly eager to push on, and seemed to 
suffer less even in the biting wind and sleet than on the 
dirty pallets or in the smoky, noisy kitchens of the inns. 
That there was no wavering of consciousness was the only 
comfort, and Philip trusted to prevent this by bleeding 
him whenever his head seemed aching or heated ; and under 
this well-meant surgery it was no wonder that he grew 
weaker every day, in spite of the most affectionate and as- 
siduous watching on his brother's 2 :)art. 

Nearly six weeks had been spent in struggling along the 
cross-ro^s, or rather in endless delays; and when at last 
they came on more frequented ways, with better inns, well- 
paved clianssees, and horses more fit for use, ]3»renger was 
almost beyond feeling the improvement. At their last 
halt, even Philip was for waiting and sending on to Paris 
to inform Sir Francis Walsingham of their situation; but 
Berenger only shook his head, dressed himself, and imper- 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


25 


atively signed to go on. It was a bright morning, with a 
clear frost, and the towers and steeples of Paris presently 
began to appear above the poplars that bordered the way; 
but by this time Berenger was reeling in his saddle, and he 
presently became so faint and dizzy, that Philip and Hum- 
frey were obliged to lift him from his horse, and lay him 
under an elm-tree that stood a little back from the road. 

“ Look up, sir, it is but a league further, quoth Ham- 
frey; “ I can see the roof of the big church they call Notre- 
Dame.^^ 

“ He does not open his eyes, he is swooning,^^ said Philip. 

He must have some cordial, ere he can sit his horse. 
Can you think of no place where we could get a drop of 
wine or strong waters?” 

“ Hot I, Master Philip. We passed a convent wall but 
now, but ^twas a nunnery, as good as a grave against poor 
travelers. I would ride on, and get some of Sir Francises 
folk to bring a litter or coach, but I doubt me if I could 
get past the barrier without my young lord^s safe-conduct.^^ 

Berenger, hearing all, here made an effort to raise him- 
self, but sunk back against Philipps shoulder. Just then, 
a trampling and lumbering became audible, and on the 
road behind appeared first three horsemen riding abreast 
streaming with black and white ribbons; then eight pairs of 
black horses, a man walking at the crested heads of each 
couple, and . behind these a coach, shaped like an urn re- 
versed, and with a coronet on the top, silvered, while the 
vehicle itself was, melon-like, fluted, alternately black, 
with silver figures, and white with black landscapes; and 


embroidered with black and silver, 


with white 



fioating from the windows. Four lackeys, in the same 
magpie-coloring, stood behind, and outriders followed; but 
as the cavalcade approached the group by the road-side, 
one of the horsemen paused, saying lightly, Over near 
the walls for an affair of honor? Has he caught it badly? 
Who was the other ?’^ 

Ere Guibert could answer, the curtains were thrust aside, 
the coach stopped, a lady^s head and hand apj^eared, and a 
female voice exclaimed, in much alarm, “ Halt! Ho, you 
there, in our colors, come here. What is it? My brother 
here? Is he wounded?^'’ 

“ It is no wound, madame/^ said Guibert, shoved for- 
ward by his English comrades, “ it is Monsieur le Baron de 


26 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


Eibaumont who is taken ill, and — ah! here is Monsieur 
Philippe. 

For Philip, seeing a thick black veil put back from the 
face of the most beautiful lady who had ever appeared to 
him, stepped forward, hat in hand, as she exclaimed, “ Le 
Baron de Ribaumont! Can it be true? What means this? 
What ails him?^^ 

“It is his wound, madame,^^ said Philip, in his best 
French; “ it has broken out again, and he has almost 
dropped from his horse from def alliance. 

“ Ah, bring him here — lay him on the cushions, we will 
have the honor of transporting him,^^ cried the lady; and, 
regardless of the wet road, she sprung out of the coach, 
with her essences in her hand, followed by at least three 
women, two pages, and two little white dogs which ran bark- 
ing toward the prostrate figure, but were caught up by 
their pages. “Ah, cousin, how dreadful,^ ^ she cried, as 
she knelt down beside him, and held her essences toward 
him. Voice and scent revived him, and with a bewildered 
look and gesture half of thanks, half of refusal, he gazed 
round him, then rose to his feet without assistance, bent 
his head, and making a sign that he was unable to speak, 
turned toward his horse. 

“ Cousin, cousin,^’ exclaimed the lady, in whose fine 
black eyes tears were standing, “ you will let me take you 
into the city — you can not refuse. 

“Berry, indeed you can not ride,^’ entreated Philip; 
“ you must take her offer. Are you getting crazed at lastr ^ 

Berenger hesitated for a moment, but he felt himself 
again dizzy; the exertion of springing into his saddle was 
quite beyond him, and bending his head he submitted pass- 
ively to be helped into the black and white coach. Hum- 
frey, however, clutched Philips’s arm and said impressive- 
ly, “ Have a care, sir; this is no other than the fine lady, 
sister to the murderous villain that set upon him. If you 
would save his life, don^t quit him, nor let her take him 
elsewhere than to our embassador’s. P’11 not leave the 
coach-door, and as soon as we are past the barriers. 111 
send Jack Smithers to make known we are coming.^’ 

Philip, without further ceremony, followed the lady into 
the coach, where he found her insisting that Berenger, who 
had sunk back in a corner, should lay his length of limb, 
muddy boots and all, upon the white velvet cushions richly 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


27 


worked in black and silver, with devices and mottoes, in 
which the crescent moon, and eclipsed or setting suns, made 
a great figure. The original inmates seemed to have dis- 
posed of themselves in various nooks of the ample convey- 
ance, and Philip, rather at a loss to explain his intrusion, 
perched himself awkwardly on the edge of the cushions in 
front of his brother, thinking that Humfrey was an 
officious, suspicious fellow, to distrust this lovely lady, who 
seemed so exceedingly shocked and grieved at Berenger^s 
condition. ‘‘Ah! I never guessed it had been so frightful 
as this. I should not have known him. Ah! had I imag- 
ined — She leaned back, covered her face, and wept, as 
one overpowered ; then, after a few seconds, she bent for- 
ward, and would have taken the hand that hung listlessly 
down, but it was at once withdrawn, and folded with the 
other on his breast. 

“ Can you be more at ease? Do you suffer much?^^ she 
asked, with sympathy and tenderness that went to Philipps 
heart, and he explained. “ He can not speak, madame; 
the shot in his cheek ” (the lady shuddered, and put her 
handkerchief to her eyes) “ from time to time causes this 
horrible swelling and torture. After that he will be bet- 
ter. 

“Frightful, frightful !^^ she sighed, “but we will do 
our best to make up. You, sir, must be his truchemanJ^ 

Philip, not catching the last word, and wondering what 
kind of'man that might be, made answer, “ I am his broth- 
er, madame. 

“ A'A monsieur son frere. Has madame sa mere a son 
so old?” 

“ I am Philip Thistle wood, her husband^s son, at your 
service, madame,^ ^ said Philip, coloring up to the ears; “ I 
came with him, for he is too weak to be alone. 

“ Great confidence must be reposed in you, sir,” she said 
with a not unflattering surprise. “But whence are you 
come? I little looked to see monsieur here.” 

“We came from Anjou, madame. We went to La Sa- 
blerie,” and he broke off. 

“I understand. Ah! let us say no more! It rends the 
heart;” and again she wiped away a tear. “ And now — ” 

“ We are coming to the embassador^s to obtain — ” he 
stopped, for Berenger gave him a touch of peremptory 
warning, but the lady saved his embarrassment by exclaim- 


28 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


ing that she .could not let her dear cousin go to the embas- 
sador^ s when he was among his own kindred. Perhaps 
monsieur did not know her; she must present herself as 
Mme. de Selinville, nee de Kibaumont, a poor cousin of ce 
clier bar on, “ and even a little to you, monsienr le fr ere, if 
you will own me/^ and she held out a hand, which he 
ought to have kissed, but not knowing how, he only shook 
it. She further explained that her brother was at Cracow 
with Monsieur, now King of Poland, but that her father 
lived with her at her hotel, and would be enchanted to see 
his dear cousin, only that he, like herself, would be deso- 
lated at the effects of that most miserable of errors. She 
had been returning from her Advent retreat at a convent, 
where she had been praying for the soul of the late M. de 
Selinville, when a true Providence had made her remark 
the colors of her family. And now, nothing would serve 
her, but that this dear baron should be carried at once to 
their hotel, which was much nearer than that of the em- 
bassador, and where every comfort should await him. She 
clasped her hands in earnest entreaty, and Philip, greatly 
touched by her kindness and perceiving that every jolt of 
the splendid hut springless vehicle caused Berenger’s head 
a shoot of anguish, was almost acceding to her offer, when 
he was checked by one of the most imperative of those si- 
lent negatives. Hitherto, Master Thistlewood had been 
rather proud of his bad Prench, and as long as he could* 
be understood, considered trampling on genders, tenses, 
and moods, as a manful assertion of Englishry, but he 
would just now have given a great deal for the command 
of any language but a horseboy’s, to use to this beautiful 
gracious personage. ‘‘ Merci, madame, nous ne fallons 
pas, nous avons passe notre parole dialler droit a Vamhas- 
sadeur^s et pas ow e/s'C,” did not sound very right to his 
ears; he colored up to the roots of his hair, and knew that 
if Berry had had a smile left in him, poor fellow, he would 
have smiled now. But tliis most cliarming and polite of 
ladies never betrayed it, if it were ever such bad French; 
she only bowed her head, and said something very pretty 
— if only he could make it out — of being the slave of one’s 
word, and went on persuading. Nor did it make the con- 
versation easier, that she inquired after Berenger, and 
mourned over his injuries as if he were unconscious, while 
Philip knew, nay, was reminded every instant, that he was 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


29 


aware of al] that was passing, most anxious that as little as 
possible should be said, and determined against being taken 
to her hotel. So unreasonable a prejudice did this seem to 
Philip, that had it not been for Humfrey^s words, he would 
have doubted whether, in spite of all his bleeding, his broth- 
er's brain were not wandering. 

However, what with Humfrey without, and Berenger 
within, the turn to the embassador's hotel was duly taken, 
and in process of time a hearty greeting passed between 
Humfrey and the porter; and by the time the carriage drew 
up, half the household were assembled on the steps, includ- 
ing Sir Francis himself, who had already heard more than 
a fortnight back from Lord Walwyn, and had become un- 
easy at the non-arrival of his two young guests. On Smith- 
ers's appearance, all had been made ready; and as Beren- 
ger, with feeble, tardy movements, made courteous gest- 
ures of thanks to the lady, and alighted from the coach, he 
was absolutely received into the dignified arms of the em- 
bassador. ‘‘ Welcome, my poor lad, I am glad to see you 
here again, thougli in such different guise, xour chamber 
is ready for you, and I have sent my secretary to see if 
Maitre Pare be at home, and . so we will, with God's help, 
have you better at ease anon." 

Even Philip's fascination by Mme. de Selinville could 
not hold out against the comfort of hearing English voices 
all round him, and of seeing his brother's anxious brow ex- 
pand, and his hand and eyes return no constrained thanks. 
Civilities were exchanged on both sides; the embassador 
thanked the lady for the assistance she had rendered to his 
young friend and guest; she answered with a shade of stiff- 
ness, that she left her kinsman in good hands, and said she 
should send to inquire that evening, and her father would 
call on the morrow; then, as Lady Walsingham did not ask 
her in, the black and white coach drove away. 

The lady threw herself back in one corner, covered her 
face, and spoke no word. Her coach pursued its way 
through the streets, and turned at length into another great 
court-yard, surrounded with buildings, where she alighted, 
and stepped across a wide but dirty hall, where ranks of 
servants stood up and bowed as she passed; then she as* 
cended a wide carved staircase, opened a small private door, 
and entered a tiny wainscoted room, hardly large enough 
for her farthingale to turn round in. You, Veronique, 


30 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


come in — only you/^ she said, at the door; and a waiting- 
woman, who had been in the carriage, obeyed, no longer 
clad in the Angevin costume, but in the richer and less 
characteristic dress of the ordinary Parisian femme de 
chambre. 

“ Undo my mantle in haste gasped Mme. de Selin- 
ville. ‘‘ 0 Veronique — you saw — what destruction!’^ 

“ Ah! if my sweet young lady had only known how 
frightful he had become, she had never sacrificed herself,’^ 
sighed Veronique. 

“ Frightful! What with the grave blue eyes that seem 
like the steady avenging judgment of St. Michael in his 
triumph in the picture at the Louvre,” murmured Mme. 
de Selinville; then she added quickly, Yes, yes, it is well. 
She and you, Veronique, may see him frightful and wel- 
come. There are other eyes — make haste, girl. . There — 
another handkerchief. Follow me not. ’ ’ 

And Mme. de Selinville moved out of the room, past the 
great state bedroom and the salle beyond, to another cham- 
ber where more servants waited and rose Rt her entrance. 

‘‘ Is any one with my father?” 

“ No, madame;” and a page, knocking, opened the door 
and announced, “ Madame la Comtesse.” 

The chevalier, in easy dishabille, with a flask of good 
wine, iced water, and delicate cakes and confitures before 
liim, a witty and licentious epigrammatic poem close under 
his hand, sat lazily enjoying the luxuries that it had been 
his daughter’s satisfaction to procure for him ever since 
her marriage. He sprung up to meet her with a grace and 
deference that showed how different a person was the Comt- 
esse de Selinville from Diane de Pibaumont. 

‘‘Ah! ma belle, my sweet,” as there was a mutual kiss- 
ing of hands, “ thou art returned. Had I known thine 
hour, I had gone down for thy first embrace. But thou 
lookest fair, my child; the convent has made thee lovelier 
than ever.” 

“ Father, who think you is here? It is he— the baron.” 

“ The baron; who, what baron?” 

“ What baron? Eh, father!” she cried impetuously. 
“ Who could it be but one?” 

“My child, you are mistaken! That young hot-head 
can never be thrusting himself here again, ” 


THE CHAPLET OE PEARLS. 31 

‘‘ But lie is, father; I brought him into Paris in my 
coach ! I left him at the embassador^s. 

‘‘ Thou shouldest have brought him here. There will be 
ten thousand fresh imbroglios. 

“ I could not; he is as immoveable as ever, though un- 
able to speak! Oh, father, he is very ill, he suffers terri- 
bly. Oh, Narcisse! Ah! may I never see him again !"^ 

“But what brings him blundering here again ex- 
claimed the chevalier. “Speak intelligibly, child! I 
thought we had guarded against that! He knows notliing 
of the survivance. 

“I can not tell much. He could not open his mouth, 
and his half-brother, a big dull English boy, stammered 
out a few words of shocking French against his will. But 
I believe they had heard of la pauvre petite at La Sablerie, 
came over for her, and finding the ruin my brother makes 
wherever he goes, are returning seeking intelligence and 
succor for him.” 

“ That may be,^^ said the chevalier, thoughtfully. “ It 
is well thy brother is in Poland. I would not see him 
suffer any more; and we may get liim back to England ere 
my son learns that he is here.^^ 

“Father, there is a better way! Give him my hand.^^ 

“ Eh quoii child; if thou art tired of devotion, there are 
a thousand better marriages. 

“No, father, none so good for this family. See, I bring 
him all — all that I was sold for. As the price of that, he 
resigns forever all his claims to the ancestral castle — to La 
Leurre, and above all, that claim to Nid-de-Merle as Eus- 
tacie^s widower, which, should he ever discover the original 
contract, will lead to endless warfare. 

“ His marriage with Eustacie was annulled. Yet — yet 
there might be doubts. There was the protest; and who 
knows whether they formally renewed their vows when so 
much went wrong at Montpipeau. Child, it is a horrible 
perplexity. I often could wish we had had no warning, and 
the poor things had made off together. We could have 
cried shame till we forced out a provision for thy brother; 
and my poor little Eustacie — He had tears in his eyes 
as he broke off. 

Diane made an impatient gesture. “ She would have 
died of tedium in England, or broken forth so as to have a 
true scandal. That is all over, father, now; weigh my pro- 


32 THE CHAPLET OP PEAELS. 

posal! Nothing else will save my brother from all that his 
cruel hand merits! You will win infinite credit at court. 
The king loved him more than you thought safe.^^ 

“ The king has not a year to live, child, and he has per- 
sonally offended the King of Poland. Besides, this youth 
is heretic. 

“ Only by education. Have I not heard you say that he 
had so little of the Huguenot that you feared his throwing 
you over by an abjuration. And as to Monsieur’s enmity, 
if it be not forgotten, the glory of bringing about a conver- 
sion would end that at once. ’ ’ 

Then, daughter, thou shouldst not have let him bury 
himself among the English. ” 

“ It was unavoidable, father, and perhaps if he were 
here he would live in an untamable state of distrust, 
whereas we may now win him gradually. You will go and 
see him to-morrow, my dear father.” 

“I must have time to think of this thy sudden device.” 

“ Nay, he is in no condition to hear of it at present. I 
did but speak now, that you might not regard it as sudden 
when the fit moment comes. It is the fixed purpose of my 
mind. I am no girl now, and I could act for myself if I 
would; but as it is for your interest and that of my brother 
thus to dispose of me, it is better that you should act for 
me.” 

“ Child, headstrong child, thou wilt make no scandal,^ ^ 
said the chevaher, looking up at his daughter’s handsome 
head drawn up proudly with determination. 

“ Certainly not, sir, if you will act for me. ” And Diane 
sailed away in her sweeping folds of black brocade. 

In a few moments more she was kneeling with hands 
locked together before a much-gilded little waxen figure of 
St. Eustache with his cross-bearing stag by his side, which 
stood in a curtained recess in the alcove where her stately 
bed was placed. 

“ Monseigneur St. Eustache, ten wax candles every day 
to your shrine at Bellaise, so he recovers; ten more if he 
listens favorably and loves me. Nay, all— all the Selin ville 
jewels to make you a shrine. All — all, so he will only let 
me love him;” and then, while taking up the beads, and 
pronouncing the repeated devotions attached to each, her 
mind darted back to the day when, as young children, she 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


33 


^ had played unfairly, defrauded Landry Osbert, and denied 
it; how Berenger, though himself uninjured, had refused 
to speak to her all that day — ^liow she had hated him then 
— how she had thought she had hated him throughout their 
brief intercourse in the previous year; how she had played 
into her brother's hands; and when she thought to triumph 
over the man who had scorned her, found her soul all blank 
desolation, and light gone out from the earth! Reckless 
and weary, she had let herself be united to M. de Selin ville, 
and in her bridal honors and amusements had tried to 
crowd out the sense of dreariness and lose herself in excite- 
ment. Then came the illness and death of her husband, 
and almost at the same time the knowledge of Berenger^s 
existence. She sought excitement again in that feverish 
form of devotion then in vogue at Paris, and which resulted 
in the League. She had hitherto stunned herself as it were 
with penances, processions, and sermons, for which the host 
of religious orders then at Paris had given ample scope; 
and she was constantly devising new extravagances. Even 
at this moment she wore sack-cloth beneath her brocade, 
and her rosary was of death '’s heads. She was living on 
the outward husk of the Roman Church, not penetrating 
into its living power, and the phase of religion which 
fostered Henry III. and the League offered her no more. 

All, all had melted away beneath the sad but steadfast 
glance of those two eyes, the only feature still unchanged 
in the marred, wrecked countenance. That honest, quiet 
refusal, that look which came from a higher atmosphere, 
had filled her heart with passionate beatings and aspirations 
once more, and more consciously than ever. Womanly 
feeling for suffering, and a deep longing to compensate to 
him, and earn his love, nay, wrest it from him by the bene- 
fits she would heap upon him, were all at work; but the 
primary sense was the longing to rest on the only perfect 
truth she had ever known in man, and thus with passionate 
ardor she poured forth her entreaties to St. Eustache, a 
married saint, who had known love, and could feel for her, 
and could surely not object to the affection to which she 
completely gave way for one whose hand was now as free 
as her own. 

But St. Eustache was not Diane ^s only hope. That 
evening she sent Veronique to Rene of Milan, the court- 
perfumer, but also called by the malicious, Vem;poisonneuT 

8-2d half. 


34 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


de la Reine, to obtain from him the most infallible charm 
and love potion in his whole repertory. 


CHAPTER XXVL 

THE CHEYALIER’S EXPIATION". 

Next, sirs, did he marry? 

And 'whom, sirs, did he marry? One like himself. 

Though doubtless graced with many virtues, young, 

And erring, and in nothing more astray 
Than in this marriage. 

Taylor, Edwin the Fair. 

Nothing could be kinder than the embassador^s family, 
and Philip found himself at once at home there, at least in 
his brother’s room, which was all the world to him. Fort- 
unately, Ambroise Pare, the most skillful surgeon of his 
day, had stolen a day from his attendance on King Charles, 
at St. Germain, to visit his Paris patients, and, though 
unwilling to add to the list of cases, when he heard from 
Walsingham’s secretary who the sufferer was, and when in- 
jured, he came at once to afford his aid. 

He found, however, that there was little scope for pres- 
ent treatment, he could only set his chief assistant to watch 
the patient and to inform him when the crisis, should be 
nearer; but remarking the unease, anxious expression in 
Berenger’s eyes, he desired to know whether any care on his 
mind might be interfering with his recovery. A Hugue- 
not, and. perfectly trustworthy, he was one who Walsingham 
knew might safely hear the whole, and after hearing all, he 
at once returned to his patient, and leaning over him, said, 
“ Vex not yourself, sir; your illness is probably serving you 
better than health could do.” 

Sir Francis thought this quite probable, since Charles 
was so unwell and so beset with his mother’s creatures that 
no open audience could be obtained from him, and Pare, 
who always had access to him, might act when no one else 
could reach him. Meantime the embassador rejoiced to 
hear of the instinctive caution that had made Berenger 
silence Philip on the object of the journey to Paris, since if 
the hostile family guessed at the residence of the poor in- 
fant, they would have full opportunity for obliterating all 
the scanty traces of her. Poor persecuted little thing! the 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


35 


uncertain hope of her existence seemed really the only 
thread that still bound Berenger to life. lie had spent 
eighteen months in hoj)e deferred, and constant bodily pain; 
and when the frightful disappointment met him at La ^d- 
blerie, it was no wonder that his heart and hope seemed 
buried in the black scorched ruins where all he cared for 
had perished, lie was scarcely nineteen, but the life be- 
fore him seemed full of nothing but one ghastly recollec- 
tion, and, as he said in the short sad little letter which he 
wrote to his grandfather from his bed, he only desired to 
live long enough to save Eustacie^s child from being a 
nameless orphan maintained for charity in a convent, and 
to see her safe in Aunt Cecily’s care; and then he should be 
content to have done with this world forever. 

The thought that no one except himself could save the 
child, seemed to give him the resolution to battle for life 
that often bears the patient through illness, though now he 
was sutfering more severely and consciously than ever he 
had done before; and Lady Walsingham often gave up 
hopes of him. He was tenderly cared for by her and her 
women; but Philip was the most constant nurse, and his 
unfailing assiduity and readiness amazed the household, 
who had begun by thinking him ungainly, loutish, and tit 
for nothing but country sports. 

The Chevalier de Eibaumont came daily to inquire; and 
the first time he was admitted actually burst into tears at 
the sight of the swollen disfigured face, and the Imig mark 
on the arm which lay half uncovered. Presents of deli- 
cacies, ointments, and cooling drinkg were frequently sent 
from him and from the Countess de Selin ville; but Lady 
Walsingham distrusted these, and kept her guest strictly to 
the regimen appointed by Pare. How and then, billets 
would likewise come. The first brought a vivid crimson 
into Berenger’s face, and both it and all its successors he 
instantly tore into the smallest fragments, without letting 
any one see them. 

On the last day of the Carnival, the young men of the 
household had asked Master Thistlewood to come out with 
them and see the procession of the Bceuf Gras; but before 
it could take place, reports were flying about that put the 
city in commotion, caused the embassador to forbid all go- 
ing out, and made Philip expect another Huguenot mas- 
sacre, The Duke of Alen9on and the King of Kavarre had 


36 


THE CHAPLET OP PEAELS. 


been detected/ it was said, in a conspiracy for overthrowing 
the power of the queen-mother, bringing in the Huguenots, 
and securing the crown to Alenqon on the king^s death. 
Down-stairs, the embassador and his secretaries sat anx- 
iously striving to sift the various contradictory reports; 
upstairs, Philip and Lady Walsingham were anxiously 
watching Berenger in what seemed the long-expected crisis, 
and Philip was feeling as if all the French court were wel- 
come to murder one another so that they would only let 
Ambroise Pare come to his brother's relief. And it was 
impossible even to send! 

At last, however, when Ash-Wednesday was half over, 
there was a quiet movement, and a small pale man in black 
was at the bedside, without Philipps having ever seen his 
entrance. He looked at his exhausted patient, and said. 

It is well; I could not have done you any good before. 

And when he had set Berenger more at ease, he told how 
great had been the confusion at St. Germain when the plot 
had become known to the queen-mother. The poor king 
had been wakened at two o’clock in the morning, and 
carried to his litter, where Pare and his old nurse had 
tended him. He only said, “ Can they not let me die in 
peace and his weakness had been so great on arriving, 
that the surgeon could hardly have left him for M. de 
Eibaumont, save by his own desire. A^es, sir,^^ added 
Pare, seeing Berenger attending -to him, we must Have 
you well quickly; his majesty knows all about you, and is 
anxious to see you.^^ 

In spite of these .good wishes, the recovery was very 
slow; for, as the surgeon had suspected, the want of skill in 
those who had had the charge of Berenger at the first had 
been the cause of much of his protracted suffering. Pare, 
the inventor of trephining, was, perhaps, the only man in 
Europe who could have dealt witli the fracture in tlie back 
of the head, and he likewise extracted the remaining 
splinters of the jaw, though at the cost of much severe 
handling and almost intolerable pain; but by Easter, 
Berenger found the good surgeon^s encouragement verified, 
and himself on the way to a far more effectual cure than 
he had hitherto thought possible. Sleep had come back to 
him, he experienced the luxury of being free from all pain, 
he could eat without difficulty; and Pare, always an enemy 
to wine^ assured him that half the severe headaches for 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


37 


which he had been almost bled to death, were the conse- 
quence of his living on bread and soaked in sack instead of 
solid food; and he was forbidden henceforth to inflame his 
brain with anything stronger than sherbet. His speech, 
too, was much improved; he still could not utter ail the 
consonants perfectly, and could not speak distinctly with- 
out articulating very slowly, but all the discomfort and 
pain were gone ; and though still very weak, he told Philip 
that now all his course seemed clear toward his child, in- 
stead of being like a dull, distraught dream. His plan was 
to write to have a vessel sent from Weymouth, to lie off the 
coast till his signal should be seen from La Mqtte-Achard, 
and then to take in the whole party and the little yearling 
daughter, whom he declared he should trust to no one but 
himself. Lady Walsingham remonstrated a little at the 
wonderful plans hatched by the two lads together, and yet 
she was too glad to see a beginning of brightening on his 
face to make many objections. It was only too sad to 
think how likely he was again to be disappointed. 

He was dressed, but had not left his room, and was 
lying on cushions in the ample window overlooking the gar- 
den, while Frances and Elizabeth Walsingham in charge of 
their mother tried to amuse him by their childish airs and 
sports, when a message was brought that M. le Chevalier 
de Eibaumont prayed to be admitted to see him privily. 

‘‘ What bodes that?^^ he languidly said. 

Mischief, no doubt,'’ ^ said Philip Walsingham. ‘‘ Send 
him word that you are seriously employed. 

“ Nay, that could scarce be, when he must have heard 
the children's voices, said Lady Walsingham. ‘‘ Come 
away, little ones.^^ 

The ladies took the hint and vanished, but Philip re- 
mained till the chevalier had entered, more resplendent than 
ever, in a brown, velvet suit slashed with green satin, and 
sparkling with gold lace — a contrast to the deep mourning 
habit in which Berenger was dressed. After inquiries for 
his health, the chevalier looked at Philip, and expressed his 
desire of speaking with his cousin alone. 

“ If it be of business,^-’ said Berenger, much on his 
guard, “ my head is still weak, and I would wish to have 
the presence of the embassador or one of his secretaries/^ 

“ This is not so much a matter of business as of family, 
said the chevalier, still looking so uneasily at Philip that 


38 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


Berenger felt constrained to advise him to join the young 
ladies in i^ie garden; but instead of doing this, the boy 
paced the corridors like a restless dog waiting for his mas- 
ter. and no sooner heard the old gentleman bow himself out 
than he hurried back again, to find Berenger heated, pant- 
ing, agitated as by a shar]) encounter. 

“ Brother, what is it — what has the old rogue done to 


you f 

“ Nothingj"" said Berenger, tardily and wearily; and for 
some minutes he did not attempt to speak, while Philip 
devoured his curiosity as best he might. At last he said. 

He was always beyond me. What think you? Now he 
wants me to turn French courtier and marry his daughter. 

“His daughter!’^ exclaimed Philip, “that beautiful 
lady I saw in the coach 

A nod of assent. 

“ I only wish it were 

“ Philip,"" half angrily, “ how can you be such a fool?"" 

“ Of course, I know it can"t be,"" said Philip sheepishly, 
but a little offended. “ But she"s the fairest woman my 
eyes ever beheld."" 

“ And the falsest."" 

“ My father says all women are false; only they can"t 
help it, and don"t mean it."" 

“ Only some do mean it,"" said Berenger, dryly. 

“ Brother!"" cried Philip, fiercely, as if ready to break a 
lance, “ what right have you to accuse that kindly, lovely 
dame of falsehood?"" 

“ It skills not going through all,"" said Berenger, wearily. 
“ I know her of old. She began by passing herself off on 
me as my wife. "" 

“ And you were not transported?"" 

“ I am not such a gull as you. "" 

“ How very beautiful your wife must have been!"" said 
Philip, with gruff amazement overpowering his considera- 
tion. 


“ Much you know about it,"" returned Berenger, turning 
his face away. 

There was a long silence, first broken by Philip, asking 
more cautiously, “ And what did you say to him?"" 

“ I said whatever could show it was most impossible. 
Even I said the brother"s handwriting was too plain on my 
face for me to offer myself to the sister. But it seems all 


THE CHAPLET OP PEARLS. 39 

that is to be passed over as an unlucky mistake. I wish I 
could guess what the old fellow is aiming at. 

“ I am sure the lady looked at you as if she loved you. 

“ Simpleton! She looked to see how she could beguile 
me. Love! They do nothing for love here, you foolish 
boy, save ])ar amour. If she loved me, her father was the 
last person she would have sent me. No, no; Tis a new 
stratagem, if I could only see my way into it. Perhaps Sir 
Francis will when he can spend an hour on me. 

Though full of occupation. Sir Francis never failed daily 
to look in upon his convalescent guest, and when he heard 
of the chevalier’s interview, he took care that Berenger 
sliould have full time to consult him; and, of course, he 
inquired a good deal more into the particulars of the pro- 
posal than Philip had done. When he learned that the 
chevalier had offered all the very considerable riches and 
lands that Diane enjoyed in right of her late husband as an 
equivalent for Berenger’ s resignation of all claims upon 
the Nid-de-Merle property, he noted it on his tablets, and 
desired to know what these claims might be. ‘‘I can not 
tell,” said Berenger. ‘‘You may remember, sir, the 
parchments with our contract of marriage had been taken 
away from Chateau Leurre, and I have never seen them. ” 

“ Then,” said the embassador, “ you may hold it as cer- 
tain that those parchments give you some advantage which 
he hears, since he is willing to purchase it at so heavy a 
price. Otherwise he himself would be the natural heir of 
those lands. ” 

“ After my child,” said Berenger, hastily. 

“ Were you on your guard against mentioning your trust 
in your child’s life?” said Sir Francis. 

The long scar turned deeper purple than ever. “ Only 
so far as that I said there still be rights I had no power to 
resign,” said Berenger. “ And then he began to prove to 
nie — what I had no mind to hear ” (and his voice trem- 
bled) — “ all that I know but too well.” 

“ Hum! you must not be left alone again to cope with 
him,” said Walsingham. “ Did he make any question of 
the validity of your marriage?” 

“No, sir, it was never touched on. I would not let him 
take her name into his lips.” . 

Walsingham considered for some minutes, and then said, 
“It is clear, then, that he believes that the niarriage can 


40 


THE CHAPLET OP PEAELS. 


be sufficiently established to enable you to disturb him in 
his possession of some part, at least, of the Angevin in- 
heritance, or he would not endeavor to purchase your 
renunciation of it by the hand of a daughter so richly en- 
dowed. 

I would willingly renounce it if that were all! I never 
sought it; only I can not give up her cbild^s rights. 

“And that you almost declared, proceeded Walsing- 
ham; “so that the chevalier has by his negotiation 
gathered from you that you have not given up hope that 
the infant lives. Do your men know where you believe she 
is?^^ 

“ My Englishmen know it, of course,^^ said Berenger; 
“ but there is no fear of them. The chevalier speaks no 
English, and they scarcely any French; and, besides, I be- 
lieve they deem him equally my butcher with his son. The 
other fellow I only picked up after I was on my way to 
Paris, and I doubt his knowing my purpose. 

“ The chevalier must have had speech with him, 
though, said Philip; “ for it was he who brought word 
that the old rogue wished to speak with you. 

“It would be well to be i|uit yourself of the fellow ere 
leaving Paris, said Walsingham. 

“ Then, sir,^^ said Berenger, with an anxious voice, “ do 
you indeed think I have betrayed aught that can peril the 
poor little one?^^ 

Sir Francis smiled. “ We do not set lads of your age to 
cope with old foxes, he answered; “ and it seems to me 
that you used fair discretion in the encounter. The mere 
belief that the child lives does not show him where she may 
be. In effect, it would seem likely to most that the babe 
would be nursed in some cottage, and thus not be in the 
city of La Sablerie at all. He might, mayhap, thus be 
put on a false scent. 

“Oh no,^^ exclaimed Berenger, startled; “that might 
bring the death of some other personas child on my soul. 

“ That shall be guarded against, said Sir Francis. “ In 
the meantime, my fair youth, keep your matters as silent 
as may be — do not admit the chevalier again in my ab- 
sence; and, as to this man Guibert, I will confer with my 
steward whether he knows too much, and whether it be 
safer to keep or dismiss him!’^ 


THE CHAPLET OP PEAKLS. 


41 


If only I could see the king, and leave Paris/' sighed 
Berenger. 

And Walsingham, though unwilling to grieve the poor 
youth further, bethought himself that this was the most 
difficult and hopeless matter of all. As young Eibaumont 
grew better, the king grew worse; he himself only saw 
Charles on rare occasions, surrounded by a host of watch- 
ful eyes and ears, and every time he marked the progress of 
disease; and though such a hint could not be given by an 
embassador, he thought that by far the best chance of re- 
covery of the child lay in the confusion that might probably 
follow the death of Charles IX. in the absence of his next 
heir. 

Berenger reckoned on the influence of Elizabeth of 
Austria, who had been the real worker in his union with 
Eustacie; but he was told that it was vain to expect assist- 
ance from her. In the first year of her marriage, she had 
fondly hoped to enjoy her husband's confidence, and take 
her natui’al place in his Court; but she was of no mold to 
struggle with Catherine de Medicis, and after a time had 
totally desisted. Even at the time of the St. Bartholomew, 
she had endeavored to uplift her voice on the side of 
mercy, and had actually saved the lives of the King of 
Kavarre and Prince of Conde; and her father, the good 
Maximilian II., had written in the strongest terms to 
Charles IX. expressing his horror of the massacre. Six 
weeks later, the first* hour after the birth of her first and 
only child, she had interceded with her husband for the 
lives of two Huguenots who had been taken alive, and fail- 
ing then either through his want of will or want of power, 
she had collapsed and yielded up the endeavor. She ceased 
to listen to petitions from those who had hoped for her 
assistance, as if to save both them and herself useless pain, 
and seemed to lapse into a sort of apathy to all public in- 
terests. She hardly spoke, mechanically fulfilled her few 
offices in the Court, and seemed to have turned her entire 
hope and trust into prayer for her husband. Her German 
confessor had been sent home, and a Jesuit given her in 
his stead, but she had made no resistance; she seemed to 
the outer world a dull, weary stranger, obstinate in leading 
a conventual life; but those who knew her lest — and of 
these few was the Huguenot surgeon Pare— knew that her 
heart had been broken when, as a new-made mother, she 


42 


THE CHAPLET OP PEAKLS, 


had failed to win those two guilty lives, or to make her 
husband free himself from his bondage to bloody counsels. 
To pray for him was all that remained to her — and un- 
wearied had been those prayers. Since his health had de- 
clined, she had been equally indefatigable in attending on 
him, and did not seem to have a single interest beyond his 
sick-chamber. 

As to the King of Navarre, for whose help Berenger had 
hoped, he had been all these months in the dishonorable 
thralldom of Catherine de Medicis, and was more powerless 
than ever at this juncture, having been implicated in 
Alen^on^s plot, and imprisoned at Vincennes. 

And thus, the more Berenger heard of the state of things, 
the less hopeful did his cause appear, till he could almost 
have believed his best chance lay in Philip’s plan of per- 
suading the Huguenots to storm the convent. 


CHAPTER *XXVIL 

THE DYIKG KIHG. 

Die in terror of tliy guiltiness, 

Dream on, dream on of bloody deeds and death. 

Fainting, despair, despairing yield thy breath. 

King Richard 111. 

A FEW days later, when Berenger Had sent out Philip, 
under the keeping of the secretaries, to see the queen- 
mother represent royalty in one of the grand processions of 
Rogation- tide, the gentle knock came to his door that al- 
ways announced the arrival of his good surgeon. 

“You look stronger. Monsieur le Baron; have you left 
your room?” 

“ I have walked round the gallery above the hall,” said 
Berenger. “ I have not gone down-stairs; that is for to- 
morrow.” 

“ AVhat would Monsieur le Baron say if his chirurgeon 
took him not merely down-stairs, but up one flight at the 
Louvre?” 

“ Ha!” cried Berenger; “ to the king?” 

“ It is well-nigh the last chance, monsieur; the queen- 
mother and all her suite are occupied with services and ser- 
mons this week; and next week private access to the king 


THE CHAPLET OP PEARLS. 


43 


will be far more difficult. I have waited as long as I could 
that you might gain strength to support the fatigue/^ 

“ Hope caticels fatigue/'’ said Berenger, already at the 
other end of the room searching for his long-disused cloak, 
sword, gloves, hat, and mask. 

“ Not the sword,'’ ' said Pare, “ so please you. Monsieur 
le Baron must condescend to obtain entrance as my assist- 
ant — the plain black doublet — yes, that is admirable; but I 
did not know that monsieur was so tall,'’'’ he added, in some 
consternation, as, for the first time, he saw his patient 
standing up at his full height — unusual even in Englai:kd, 
and more so in France. Indeed, Berenger had grown dur- 
ing his year of illness, and being, of course, extremely thin, 
looked all the taller, so as to be a very inconvenient sub- 
ject to smuggle into the palace unobserved. 

However, Ambroise had made up his mind to the risk, 
and merely assisted Berenger in assuming his few equip- 
ments, then gave him his arm to go down the stairs. Meet- 
ing Guibert on the way, Berenger left word with him that 
he was going out to take the air with Maitre Pare; and on 
the man^s otfering to attend him, refused the proposal. 

Pare’s carriage waited in the court, and Berenger, seated 
in its depths, rolled unseen through tlie streets, till he 
found himself at the little postern of the Louvre, the very 
door whence he was to have led off his poor Eiistacie. 
Here Ambroise made him take off his small black mask, in 
spite of all danger of his scars being remarked, since masks 
were not etiquette in the palace, and, 23utting into his 
arms a small brass-bound case of instruments, asked his 
pardon for j^receding him, and alighted from the carriage. 

This was Ambroise'’s usual entrance, and it was merely 
guarded by a Scottish archer, who probably observed noth- 
ing. They then mounted the stone stair, the same where 
Osbert had dragged down his insensible master; and as, at 
the summit, the window appeared where Berenger had 
waited those weary hours, and heard the first notes of the 
bell of St. Germain PAuxerrois, his breath came in such 
hurried sobs, that Pare would fain have given him time to 
recover himself, but he gasped, ‘‘ Not here — not here;’^ 
and Pare, seeing that he could still move on, turned, not 
to the corridor leading to the king's old apartments, now 
too full of dreadful associations for poor Charles, but toward 
those of the young queen. Avoiding the anteroom, where 


44 


THE CHAPLET OE PEARLS. 


no doubt waited pages, ushers, and attendants, Pare pres- 
ently knocked at a small door, so hidden in the wainscoting 
of the passage that only a habitue could have found it with- 
out strict search. It was at once o})ened, and the withered, 
motherly face of an old woman with keen black eyes under 
a formal tight white cap, looked out. 

; “Eh! Maitre Pare,^" she said, “you have brought the 
poor young gentleman? On my faith, he looks scarcely 
able to walk! Come in, sir, and rest a while in my cham- 
ber wliile Maitre Ambroise goes on to announce you to the 
king. He is more at ease to-day, the poor child, and will 
relish some fresh talk. 

Berenger knew this to be Philippine, the old Huguenot 
nurse, whom Charles IX. loved most fondly, and in whom 
he found his greatest comfort. He was very glad to sink 
into the seat she placed for him, the only one in her small, 
bare room, and recover breath there while Pare passed 
on to the king, and she talked as one delighted to have a 
hearer. 

“ Ah, yes, rest yourself — stay; I will give you a few 
spoonfuls of the cordial potage I have here for the king; it 
will comfort your heart. Ah! you have been cruelly 
mauled — but he would have saved you if he could. 

“ Yes, good mother, I know that; the king has been my 
very good lord.-’^ 

“Ah! blessings on you if you say so from your heart, 
monsieur; you know me for one of our poor Reformed. 
And I tell you — I who saw him born, who nursed him from 
his birth — that, suffer as you may, you can never suffer as 
he does. Maitre Ambroise may talk of his illness coming 
from blowing too much on his horn; I know better. But, 
ah ! to be here at night would make a stone shed tears of 
blood. The queen and I know it; but we say nothing, we 
only pray.^^ 

The sight of a Huguenot was so great a treat to the old 
woman in her isolated hfe, that her tongue ran thus freely 
while Berenger sat, scarce daring to speak or breathe in 
the strange boding atmosphere of the palace, where the 
nurse and surgeon moved as tolerated, privileged persons, in 
virtue of the necessity of the one to the king — of the other 
to all the world. After a brief interval Pare returned and 
beckoned to Berenger, who followed him across a large 
state-bedroom to a much smaller one, which he entered 


45 


THE CHAPLET OE PEARLS. 

from under a heavy blue velvet curtain, and found himself 
in an atmosphere heavy with warmth and perfume, and 
strangely oppressed besides. On one side of the large fire 
sat the young queen, faded, wan, and with all animation 
or energy departed, only gazing with a silent, wistful in- 
tentness at her husband. He was opposite to her in a pil- 
lowed chair, his feet on a stool, with a deadly white, pad- 
ded, puffy cheek, and his great black eyes, always promi- 
nent, now with a glassy look, and strained wide, as though 
always gazing after some horrible sight. ‘‘ Madame la 
Comtesse ^ ^ stood in her old, wooden automaton fashion 
behind the queen; otherwise, no one was present save Pare, 
who, as he held up the curtain, stood back to let M. de 
Ribaumont advance. He stood still, however, merely bow- 
ing low, awaiting an invitation to come forward, and trying 
to repress the startled tear called up by the very shock of 
pity at the mournful aspect of the, young king and queen. 

Elizabeth, absorbed in her husband, and indifferent to 
all besides, did not even turn her head as he entered; but 
Charles signed to him to approach, holding out a yellow, 
dropsical-looking hand; and as he dropped on one knee 
and kissed it fervently, the king said, ‘‘ Here he is, 
madaine, the Baron de Eibaumont, the same whose little 
pleasure-boat was sucked down in our whirlpool. 

All Elizabeth's memories seemed to have been blotted 
out in that whirlpool, for she only bowed her head formally, 
and gave no look of recognition, though she, too, allowed 
Berenger to salute her listless, dejected hand. ‘‘ One 
would hardly have known him again,"’ ^ continued the king, 
in a low husky voice; “ but I hope, sir, I see you recover- 
ing. 

Thanks, sire, to Heaven ^s goodness, and to your good- 
ness in sparing to me the services of Maitre Pare. 

‘‘Ah! there is none like Pare for curing a wound out- 
side,^" said Charles, then leaned baek silent; and Berenger, 
still kneeling, was considering whether he ought to proffer 
his petition, when the king continued, “How fares your 
friend Sidney, Monsieur le Baron 

“ Right well, sire. The queen has made him one of her 
gentlemen. 

“ Not after this fashion,"" said Charles, as with his 
finger he traced the long scar on B6renger"s face. “ Our 
sister of England has different badges of merit from ours 


46 


Tim CHAPLET OE PEAHLS. 


for her good subjects. Ha! what say they of us in Eng- 
land;, baron 

“ I have lain sick at home, sire, and have neither seen 
nor heard,'’ said Berenger. 

‘‘Ah! one day more at Montpipeau had served your 
turn,'’^said the king; “but you are one who has floated 
up again. One — one at least whose blood is not on my 
head.^" 

The queen looked up uneasy and imploring, as Charles 
continued: “ AVould that more of you would come in this 
way! They have scored you deep, but know you wliat is 
gashed deeper still? Your king^s heart! Ah! you will not 
come, as Coligny does, from his gibbet, with his two bleed- 
ing hands. My father was haunted to his dying day by the 
face of one Huguenot tailor. Why, I see a score, night by 
night! You are solid; let me feel you, man.-’^ 

“ Monsieur Pare,^^ exclaimed the poor queen, “ take him 
away. 

“ Ho, madame/^ said the king, holding tight in his hot 
grasp Berenger ’s hand, which was as pale as his owji, long, 
thin, and wasted, but cold from strong emotion; “ take 
not away the only welcome sight I have seen for well-nigh 
two years.'’'’ He coughed, and tlie handkerchief he put to 
his lips had blood on it; but he did not quit his hold of his 
visitor, and presently said in a feeble whisper, “ Tell me 
how did you escape ?^^ 

Pare, over the king^s head, signed to him to make his 
narrative take time; and indeed his speech was of necessity 
so slow, that by the time he had related how’' Osbert had 
brought him safely to England, the king had recovered 
himself so as to say, “ See what it is to have a faithful serv- 
ant. Which of those they have left me would do as much 
for me? And now, being once away with your life, what 
brings you back to this realm of ours, after your last wel- 
come?’^ 

“ I left my wife here, sire.'’^ 

“ Ha! and the cousin would have married her — obtained 
permission to call himself Hid-de-Merle — but she slipped 
through his clumsy fingers; did she not? Did you know 
anvthing of her, madame?"'’ 

‘ Ho,^^ said the queen, looking up. “ She wrote to me 
once from her convent; but I knew I could do nothing for 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


47 


her but bring her enemies^ notice on her; so I made no an- 
swer. 

Berenger could hardly conceal his start of indignation — 
less at the absolute omission, than at the weary indifference 
of the queen^s confession. Perhaps the king saw it, for lie 
added, ‘‘ So it is, Kibanmont; the kindest service we can 
do our friends is to let them alone; and, after all, it was 
not the worse for her. She did evade her enemies?’ 

‘‘ Yes, sire,” said Berenger, commanding and steadying 
his voice with great difficulty, “ she esca23ed in time to give 
birth to our child in the ruined loft of an old grange of the 
Templars, under the care of a Huguenot farmer, and a 
pastor who had known my father. Then she took refuge in 
La Sablerie, and* wrote to my mother, deeming me dead. I 
was just well enough to go in quest of her. I came — ah! 
sire, I found only charred ruins. Your niajesty knows how 
Huguenot burgs are dealt with.” 

“ And she—?” 

Berenger answered but by a look. 

Why did you come to tell me this?” said the king, 
passionately. ‘‘ Ho you not know that they have killed 
me already? I thought you came because there was still 
some one I could aid.” 

“ There is, there is, sire,” said Berenger, for once inter- 
rupting royalty. “ Hone save you can give me my child. 
It is almost certain that a good priest saved it; but it is in 
a convent, and only with a royal order can one of my re- 
ligion either obtain it, or even have my questions answered. ’ 
Hor with one in Paris,” said the king dryly; ‘‘but in 
the country the good mothers may still honor their king’s 
hand. Here, Ambroise, taken pen and ink, and write the 
order. To whom?” 

“ To the Mother Prioress of the IJrsulines at Luqon, so 
] 3 lease your majesty,” said Berenger, “ to let me have pos- 
session of my daughter. ” 

“ Eh! is it only a little girl?” 

“ Yes, sire; but my heart yearns for her all the more,” 
said Berenger, with glistening eyes. 

“You are right,” said the poor king. “ Mine, too, is 
a little girl; and I bless God daily that she is no son — to be 
the most wretched thing in Prance. Let her come in, 
madame. She is little older than my friend’s daughter. 1 
would show her to him.” 


48 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


The queen signed to Mme. la Comtesse to fetch the 
child, and Berenger added, “ 18ire, you could do a further 
benefit to my poor little one. One more signature of yours 
would attest that ratification of my marriage which took 
place in your majesty '’s presence. 

“Ah! I remember,'"' said Charles. “You may have 
any name of mine that can help you to oust that villain 
Narcisse; only wait to use it — spare me any more storms. 
It will serve your turn as well when I am beyond them, 
and you will make your claim good. What,"'^ seeing 
Berenger ^s interrogative look, “ do you not know that by 
the marriage-6ontract the lands of each were settled on the 
survivor?” 

“ No, sire; I have never seen the marriage-contract."^^ 

“ Your kinsman knew it well,” said Charles. 

Just then, Mme. la Comtesse returned, leading the little 
princess by the long ribbons at her waist; Charles bent for- 
ward, calling, “ Here, ma loetite, come here. Here is one 
who loves thy father. Look well at him, that thou mayest 
know him. ^ 

The little Mme. Elizabeth so far understood, that, with 
a certain lofty condescension, she extended her hand for 
the stranger to kiss, and thus drew from the king the first 
smile that Berenger had seen. She was more than half a 
year older than the Berenger on whom his hopes were set, 
and whom he trusted to find not such a pale, feeble, totter- 
ing little creature as this poor young daughter of France, 
whose round black eyes gazed wonderingly at his scar; but 
she was very precocious, and even already too much of a 
royal lady to indulge in any awkward personal observation. 

By the time she had been rewarded for her good behav- 
ior by one of the dried plums in her father^s comfit-box, 
the order had been written by Pare, and Berenger had pre- 
pared the certificate for the king^s signature, according to 
the form given him by his grandfather. 

“ Your writing shakes nearly as much as mine,^^ said 
the poor king, as he wrote his name to this latter. “ Now, 
madame, you had better sign it also; and tell this gentle- 
man where to find Father Meinhard in Austria. He was a 
little too true for us, do you see — would not give thanks for 
shedding innocent blood. Ah!” and with a gasp of mourn- 
ful longing, the king sunk back, while Elizabeth, at his 
bidding, added her name to the certificate, and mui’mured 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 49 

the name of a convent in Vienna^ where her late confessor 
could be found. 

“ I can not thank your majesty enough/'’ said Berenger. 
“ My child ^s rights are now secure in England at least, 
and this — as he held the other paper for the king — will 
give her to me. 

“ Ah! take it for what it is worth, said the king, as he 
scrawled his “ Charles upon it. ‘‘This order must be 
used promptly, or it will avail you nothing. Write to Am- 
broise how you speed; that is, if it will bring me one breath 
of good news. ’ ^ And as Berenger kissed his hand with tear- 
ful, inarticulate thanks, he proceeded, “ Save for that 
cause, I would ask you to come to me again. It does me 
good. It is lilte a breath from Montpipeau — the last days 
of hope — befdi’e the frenzy — the misery.'’^ 

“ Whenever your majesty does me the honor — began 
Berenger, forgetting all except the dying man. 

“lam not so senseless,^ ^ interrupted the king sharply; 
“ it would be losing the only chance of undoing one wrong. 
Only, Eibaumont,^'’ he added fervently, “ for once let me 
hear that one man has 23ardoned me. " 

“ Sire, sire,^^ sobbed Berenger, totally overcome, “ how 
can I speak the word? How feel aught but love, loyalty, 
gratitude ?^^ 

Charles half smiled again as he said in sad meditation — 
“ Ah! it was in. me to have been a good king if they had 
let me. Think of me, bid your friend Sidney think of me, 
as I would have been — not as I have been — and pray, pray 
for me.-’'’ Then hiding his face in his handkerchief, in a 
paroxysm of grief and horror, he murmured in a stifled 
tone, “ Blood, blood, deliver me, good Lord!’'’ 

In effect, there was so sudden gush of blood from mouth 
and nose that Berenger sprung to his feet in dismay, and 
was bona fide j)erforming the part of assistant to the sur- 
geon, when, at the queen’s cry, not only the nurse Philip- 
pine hurried in, but with her a very dark, keen-looking 
man, who al once began applying strong essences to the 
king’s face, as Berenger supported his head. In a few mo- 
ments Pare looked up at Berenger, and setting him free, 
intimated to him, between sign and whisper, to go into 
Philippine’s room and wait there; and it was high time, 
for though the youth had felt nothing in the stress of the 
moment, he was almost swooning when he reached the lit- 


50 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


tie chamber, and lay back in the nurse^s chair, with closed 
eyes, scarcely conscious how time went, or even where he 
was, till he was partly aroused by hearing steps returning. 

“The poor young man, said Philippine^s kind voice, 
“he is fainting. Ah! no wonder it overcame any kind 
heart. " 

“ How is the king?’^ Berenger tried to say, but his own 
voice still sounded unnatural and far away. 

“ He is better for the time, and will sleep,” said Pare, 
administering to his other patient some cordial drops as he 
spoke. “There, sir; you will soon be able to return to 
the carriage. This has been a sore trial to your strength. ” 

“ But 1 have gained all — all I could hope,^'’said Beren- 
ger, looking at his precious papers. “But, alas! the poor 
king.-’^ 

“ You will never, never let a word of blame pass against 
him,^^ cried Philippine earnestly. “ It is well that one of 
our people should have seen how it really is with liim. All 
I regret is that Maitre Rene thrust himself in and saw you.^^ 

“ Who?” said Berenger, who had been too much en- 
grossed to perceive any one. 

“ Maitre Rene of Milan, the queen-mother’s perfumer. 
He came with some plea of bringing a pouncet-box from 
her, but I wager it was as a spy. I was doing my best to 
walk him gently off when the queen’s cry called me, and 
he must needs come in after me. ” 

“ I saw him not,” said Berenger; “ perhaps he marked 
not me in the confusion. ” 

“I fear,” said Pare, gravely “he was more likely to 
have his senses about him than you, Monsieur le Baron; 
these bleedings of the king’s are not so new to us familiars 
of the palace. The best thing now to bo done is to have 
you to the carriage, if you can move.” 

Berenger, now quite recovered, stood up, and gave his 
warm thanks to the old nurse for her kindness to him. 

“ Ah! sir,” she said, “ you are one of us. Pray, pray, 
that God will have mercy on my poor child! He has the 
truth in his heart. Pray that it may save him at the last.” 

Ambroise, knowing that she would never cease speaking 
while there was any one to hear her, almost dragged Beren- 
ger out at the little secret door, conveyed him safely down 
the stairs, and placed him again in the carriage. Neither 


THE CHAPLET OE PEARLS. 51 

Spoke till the surgeon said, “ You have seen a sad sight. 
Monsieur le Baron: I need not bid you be discreet/^ 

‘‘There are somethings that go too deep for speech, ” 
sighed the almost English Berenger; then, after a pause, 
“ Is there no hope for him? Is he indeed dying?^' 

“ Without a miracle, he can not live a month. He is 
as truly slain by the St. Bartholomew as ever its martyrs 
were, said Pare, moved out of his usual cautious reserve 
toward one who had seen so much and felt so truly. “ I 
tell you, sir, that his mother hath as truly slain her sons, 
as if she had sent Rene there to them with his drugs. Ac- , 
cording as they have consciences and hearts, so they pine 
and perish under her rule. 

Berenger shuddered, and almost sobbed, “ And hath he 
no better hope, no comforter he asked. 

“ None save good old Flipote. As you heard, the queen- 
mother will not suffer his own Church to speak to him in 
her true voice. No confessor but one chosen by the Car- 
dinal of Lorraine may come near him; and with him all is 
mere ceremony. But if at the last he opens his ear and 
heart to take in the true hope of salvation, it will be from 
the voice of poor old Philippine. 

And so it was! It was Philippine, who heard him in the 
night sobbing over the piteous words, “ My God, what hor- 
rors, what blood!’’ and, as she took from him his tear- 
drenched handkerchief, spoke to him of the Blood that 
speaketh better things than the blood of Abel; and it was 
she who, in the final agony, heard and treasured these last 
words, “ If the Lord Jesus will indeed receive me into the 
company of the blest!” Surely, never was repentance 
deeper than that of Charles IX. — and these, his parting 
words, Avere such as to inspire the trust that it was not re- 
morse. 

All-important as Berenger’s expedition had been, he still 
could think of little but the poor king; and, Avearied out as 
he Avas, he made very little reply to the astonished friends 
who gathered round him on his return. He merely told 
Philip that he had succeeded, and then lay almost Avithout 
speaking on his bed till the embassador made his evening 
Arisit, Avhen he sliowed him the two papers. Sir Francis 
could hardly belieA^e his good fortune in having obtained 
this full attestation of the marriage, and promised to send 
to the English embassador in Germany, to obtain the like 


52 


THE CHAPLET OE PEAKLS. 


from Father Meinhard. The document itself he advised 
Berenger not to expose to the dangers of the French jour- 
ney, but to leave it with him to be forwarded direct to Lord 
Walwyn. It was most important, both as obviating any 
dispute on the legitimacy of the child, if she lived; or, tf 
not, it would establish those rights of Berenger to the Nid- 
de-Merle estates, of which he had heard fromi the king. 
This information explained what were the claims that the 
chevalier was so anxious to hush up by a marriage with 
Mme. de Selinville. Berenger, as his wife^s heir, was by 
this contract the true owner of the estates seized by the 
chevalier and his son, and could only be ousted, either by 
his enemies proving his contract to Eustacie invalid and to 
be unfulfilled, or by his own voluntary resignation. The 
whole scheme was clear to W alsingham, and he wasted ad- 
vice upon unheeding ears, as to how Berenger should act 
to obtain restitution so soon as he should be of age, and 
how he should try to find out the notary who had drawn up 
the contract. If Berenger cared at all, it was rather for 
the sake of punishing and balking Narcisse, than with any 
desire of the inheritance ; and even for righteous indigna- 
tion he was just now too weary and too sad. He could not 
discuss his rights to Nid-de-Merle, if they passed over the 
rights of Eustacie'^s child, round whom his affections were 
winding themselves as his sole hope. 

The next evening Pare came in quest of Berenger, and 
after a calm, refreshing, hopeful Ascension-day, which had 
been a real balm to the weary spirit, found him enjoying 
the sweet May sunshine under a tree in the garden. “ I 
am glad to find you out-of-door«,’^ he said; “ I fear I must 
hasten your departure. 

“ I burn to lose no time,^^ cried Berenger. “ Prithee, 
tell them I may safely go! They all call it madness to 
think of setting out.^^ 

“Ordinarily it would be,’^ said Pare; “but Bene of 
Milan has sent his underlings to see who is my new, tall as- 
sistant. He will report all to the queen-mother; and 
though in this house you could scarcely suffer personal 
harm, yet the purpose of your journey might be frustrated, 
and the king might have to undergo another of those lour- 
rasques which he may well dread. 

“ I will go this very night/’ said Berenger, starting up; 
“ where is Philip? — where is Sir Francis?” 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


53 


Even that very night Pare thought not too soon, and the 
Ascension-tide illuminations brought so many persons 
abroad that it would be easy to go unnoticed; and in the 
general festivity, when every one was coming and going 
from the country to gaze or worship at the shrines and the 
images decked in every church, it would be easy for the 
barriers to be passed without observation. Then the 
brothers would sleep at a large hostel, the first on the road 
to England, where Walsingham’s couriers and guests 
always baited, and the next morning he would send out to 
them their attendants, with horses for their further jour- 
ney back into Anjou. If any enemies were on the watch, 
this would probably put them off the scent, and it only re- 
mained further to be debated, whether the Norman Guibert 
had better be dismissed at once or taken with them. There 
was always a soft place in Berenger^s heart for a Norman, 
and the man was really useful; moreover, he would cer- 
tainly be safer employed and in their company, than turned 
loose to tell the chevalier all he might have picked up in 
the Hotel d^Angleterre. It was, therefore, decided that he 
should be the attendant of the two young men, and he re- 
ceived immediate orders that night to pack up their gar- 
ments, and hold himself ready. 

Nevertheless, before the hour of denarture, Guibert had 
stolen out, had an interview with the fthevalier Eibaumont 
at the Hotel de Selinville, and came back with more than 
one good French crown in his pocket, and hopes of more. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE ORPHANS OF LA SABLERIE. 

The cream-tarts with pepper in them. 

Arabian Nights. 

Hope, spring, and recovery carried the, young Baron de 
Eibaumont on his journey infinitely better than his com- 
panions had dared to expect. He dreaded nothing so much 
as being overtaken by those tidings which would make King 
Charleses order mere waste paper; and therefore pressed on 
with little regard to his own fatigue, although happily with 
increasing strength, which carried him a further stage 
every day. 

Lucon was a closely guarded, thoroughly Catholic city. 


54 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


and liis safe-conduct was jealously demanded ; but the name 
of Eibaumont silenced all doubt. “ A relation, apparently, 
of Monsieur de Nid-de-Merle/^ said the oflicer on guard, and 
politely invited him to dinner and bed at the castle; but 
these he thought it prudent t.o decline, explaining that he 
brought a letter from the king to the mother prioress. 

The convent walls were pointed out to him, and he only 
delayed at the inn long enough to arrange his dress as 
might appear to the abbess most respectful, and, poor boy, 
be least likely to startle the babe on whom his heart was 
set. At almost every inn, the little children had shrieked 
and run from his white and gashed face, and his tall, lank . 
figure in deep black; and it was very sadly that he said to 
Philip, ‘‘ You must come with me. If she turns from me 
as an ogre, your bright ruddy face will win her.^^ 

The men were left at the inn with charge to let Guibert 
speak for them, and to avoid showing their nationality. 
The three months of Paris, and the tailors there, had ren- 
dered Philip much less conspicuous than formerly; but still 
people looked at him narrowly as he followed his brother 
along the street. The two lads had made np their minds 
to encumber themselves with no nurses, or womanfolk. 
The child should be carried, fondled, and fed by her boy- 
father alone. He believed that, when he once held her in 
his arms, he should scarcely even wish to give her up to 
any one else; and, in his concentration of mind, had hardly 
tliought of all the inconveniences and absurdities that would 
arise; but, really, was chiefly occupied by the fear that she 
would not at first let him take her in his arms, and hold 
her to his heart. 

Philip, a little more alive to the probabilities, neverthe- 
less was disposed to regard them as ‘‘ fun and pastime. 
He had had many a frolic with his baby-sisters, and this 
would be only a prolonged one; besides, it was “ Berry’s ” 
one hope, and to rescue any creature from a convent was a 
good work, in liis Protestant eyes, which had not become a 
whit less prejudiced at Paris. So he was quite prepared to 
take his full share of his niece, or more, if she should ob- 
ject to her father’s looks, and he only suggested halting at 
an old woman’s stall to buy some sweetmeats by way of 
propitiation — a proceeding which much amazed the gazing 
population of Lucon. Two reports were going about, one 
that the king had vowed a silver image of himself to St, 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


55 


Ursula, if her prioress would obtain his recovery by their 
prayers; the other that he was going to translate her to the 
royal abbey of Fontevrault to take charge of his daughter, 
Mme. Elizabeth. Any way, high honor by a royal mes- 
senger must be intended to the prioress, Mere Monique, and 
the Luconnais were proud of her sanctity. 

The portress had already heard the report, and opened 
her wicket even before the bell could be rung, then eagerly 
ushered him into the parlor, the barest and most ascetic- 
looking of rooms, with a boarded partition across, unen- 
livened except by a grated hollow, and the outer portion 
empty, save of a table, three chairs, and a rugged woodcut 
of a very tall St. Ursula, with a crowd of pigmy virgins, 
not reaching higher than the ample hem of her petticoat. 

“ Did Aunt Cecily live in such a place as this.^^^ ex- 
claimed Philip, gazing round; “ or do they live on the fat 
among down cushions inside there 

“ Hush — sh,"’^ said Berenger, frowning with anxiety; for 
a rustling was heard beliind the screen, and presently a 
black veil and white scapulary appeared, and a sweet calm 
voice said, Peace be with you, sir; what are your com- 
mands?^^ 

Berenger bowed low, and replied, “ Thanks, reverend 
lady, I bring a letter from the king, to request your aid in 
a matter that touches me nearly. 

‘‘ His Majesty shall be obeyed. Come you from him?^^ 

He was forced to reply to her inquiries after the poor 
king^s health before she opened the letter, taking it under 
her veil to read it; so that as he stood, trembling, almost 
sickening with anxiety, and scarcely able to breathe, he 
could see nothing but the black folds; and at her low mur- 
mured exclamation he started as if at a cannon-shot. 

“ De Ribauniont!^^ she said; ‘‘ can it be — the child — of 
— of — our poor dear \itt\Q pe7ision7iaire at Bellaise.^^^ 

‘‘It is — it is!’^ cried Berenger. “ Oh, madame, you 
knew her at Bellaise?'’^ 

“Even so, replied the prioress, who was in fact the 
Soeur Monique so loved and regretted by Eustacie. “I 
loved and prayed for her with all my heart when she was 
claimed by the world. Heave iPs will be done; but the poor 
little thing loved me, and I have often thought thj^t had I 
been still at Bellaise when she returned she wo^ld n^)t have 
hed. But of this child I have no knowledge. 


56 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


“ You took charge of the babes of La Sablerie, madame/^ 
said Berenger, almost under his breath. 

‘‘ Her infant among those poor orphans exclaimed the 
prioress, more and more startled and amazed. 

‘‘ If it be anywhere in this life, it is in your good keep- 
ing, madame,^^ said Berenger, with tears in his eyes. 
“Oh! I entreat, withhold her no longer.-’^ 

“ But,"*^ exclaimed the bewildered nun, “ who would you 
then bo, sir?''’ 

“ I — her husband— widower of Eustacie — father of her 
orphan!" cried Berenger. “ She can not be detained from 
me, either by right or law." 

“ Her husband," still hesitated Monique. “ But he is 
dead. The poor little one — Heaven have mercy on her 
soul — wrote me a piteous entreaty, and gave large alms for 
prayers and masses for his soul." 

The sob in his throat almost strangled his speech. 
“ She mourned me to the last as dead. I was borne away 
senseless and desperately wounded; and when I recovered 
power to seek her it was too late! Oh, madame! have pity 
— ^let me see all she has left to me. " 

“ Is it possible?" said the nun. “We would not learn 
the parentage of our nurslings since all alike become chil- 
dren of Mother Church." Then, suddenly bethinking her- 
self, “ But, surely, monsieur can not be a Huguenot." 

It was no doubt the first time she had been brought in 
contact with a schismatic, and she could not believe that 
such respectful courtesy could come from one. He saw he 
must curb himself, and explain. I am neither Calvinist 
nor Sacrementaire, madame. I was bred in England, 
where we love our own Church. My aunt is a Benedictine 
sister, who keeps her rule strictly, though her convent is 
destroyed; and it is to her that I shall carry my daughter. 
Ah, lady, did you but know my heart's hunger for her!" 

The prioress, better read in the lives of the saints than in 
the sects of heretics, did not know whether this meant that 
he was of her own faith or not; and her woman's heart 
being much moved by his pleadings, she said, “ I will 
heartily give your daughter to you, sir, as indeed I must, 
if she be here; but you have never seen her?" 

“ No; only her empty cradle in the burned house. But 
I must know her. She is a year old. " 

“We have two babes of that age; but I fear me you will 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


57 


scarce see much likeness in either of them to any one you 
knew/' said the prioress thoughtfully. ‘‘ However, there 
are^ two girls old enough to remember the parentage of 
their companions, though we forbade them to mention it. 
Would you see them, sir?" 

“ And the infants, so please you, reverend mother," ex- 
claimed Berenger. 

She desired him to wait, and after an interval of suspense 
there was a pattering of little sahots behind the partition, 
and through the grating he beheld six little girls in blue 
serge frocks and tight white caps. Of the two infants, one 
with a puny, wizen, pinched face was in the arms of the 
prioress; the other, a big, stout, coarse child, with hard 
brown cheeks and staring black eyes, was on its own feet, 
but with a great basket-work frame round its head to save 
it from falls. There were two much more prepossessing 
children of three or four, and two intelligent-looking girls 
of perhaps eight and ten, to the elder of whom the prioress 
turned, saying, ‘‘ Agathe, I release you from my command 
not to speak of your former life, and desire you to tell this 
gentleman if you know who were the parents of these two 
little ones." 

‘‘Yes, reverend mother," said Agathe, readily; “the 
old name of Claire " (touching the larger baby) “ was 
Salome Potier: her mother was the washerwoman; and 
Annonciade, I don't know what her name was, but her 
father worked for Maitre Brassier who made the kettles. " 

Philip felt relieved to be free from all doubt about these 
very uninviting little ones, but Berenger, though sighing 
heavily, asked quickly, “ Permit me, madame, a few ques- 
tions. Little maid, did you ever hear of Isaac Garden?" 

“ Maitre Isaac! Oh, yes, sir. We used to hear him 
preach at the church, and sometimes he catechized us," 
she said, and her lip quivered. 

“ He was a heretic, and I abjure him," added the other 
girl, perking up her head. 

“Was he in the town? What became of him?" ex- 
claimed Berenger. 

“He would not be in the town," said the elder girl. 
“ My poor father had sent him word to go away." 

“ Eh quoi 

“Our father was Bailli la Grasse,'^ interposed the 
younger girl consequentially. “Our names were Marthe 


68 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


and Lucie la Grasse^ but Agatlie and Eulalie are mucli 
prettier. 

“ But Maitre Garden?"^ still asked Berenger. 

“ He ought to be taken and burned,^ ’ said the new Eula- 
lie; “ he brought it all on us.^'’ 

‘‘How was it? Wa,s my wife with him — Madame de 
Eibaumont? Speak, my child. 

“ That was the name/^ said one girl. 

“ But Maitre Garden had no great lady with him/^ said 
the other, “ only his son^s widow and her baby, and they 
lodged with Hoemi Laurent, who made the patisserie.^ ^ 

“ Ah!'’^ cried Berenger, lighting up with the new ray of 
hope. “ Tell me, my dear, that they fled with him, and 
where 

“ I do not know of their going, said Agathe, confused 
and overborne by his eagerness. 

“ Curb yourself, sir, "'’said the prioress, “ they will recol- 
lect themselves and tell you what they can. "" 

“It was the little cakes with lemoned sugar,"" suggested 
the younger girl. “ Maitre Tressan always said there 
would be a judgment on us for our daintiness. Ah! he 
was very cross about them, and after all it was the Maire of 
Lucon who eat fifteen of them all at once; but then he is 
not a heretic. "" 

Happily for Berenger, Agathe unraveled this speech. 

“ Mademoiselle Garden made the sugar-lemoned cakes, 
and the Mayor of Lucon, one day when he supped with us, 
was so delighted with them that he carried one away to 
show his wife, and afterward he sent over to order some 
more. Then, after a time, he sent secretly to my father to 
ask him if Maitre Garden was there : for there was a great 
outcry about the lemon cakes, and the Duke of Alen 9 on"s 
army were coming to demand his daughter-in-law; because 
it seems she was a great lady, and the only person who 
could make the cakes. "" 

“ Agathe!"" exclaimed the prioress. 

“ I understand,"" said Berenger. “ The Cur 6 of Hissard 
told me that she was traced through cakes, the secret of 
which was only known at Bellaise."" 

“ That might be,"" said Mere Monique. “ I remember 
there was something of pride in the cakes of Bellaise, 
though I always tried to know nothing of them. "" 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


59 


“ Well, little one, continue, entreated Berenger. 
‘‘ You are giving me life and hope. 

“ 1 heard my father and mother talk about it,^^ said 
Agathe, gaining courage. “ He said he knew nothing of 
great people, and would give nobody up to the Catholics, 
but as to Maitre Is^iac he should let him know that the 
Catholic army were coming, and that it would be better for 
us if we had no pastor within our walls; and that there was 
a cry that his daughter’s lemon cakes Avere made by the 
lady that was lost. ” 

“ And they escaped! Ah! would that I could thank the 
good man!” 

“ Surely yes, sir, I never saw them again. Maitre Tres- 
san the elder prayed with us. And Avhen the cruel soldiers 
came and demanded the lady and Maitre Isaac, and all ob- 
stinate Calvinists, our mayor and my father and the rest 
made answer that they, had no knowledge of the lady, and 
did not know where Maitre Garden was; and as to Hugue- 
nots we were all one as obstinate as the other, but that we 
would pay any fine within our means so they would spare 
our lives. Then the man in the fine coat said, it was the 
lady they wanted, not the fine; and a great deal he said be- 
sides, I know not what, but my father said, ‘ It is our life’s 
blood that they want,’ and he put on his breastplate and 
kissed us all, and Avent away. Then came horrible noises 
and firing of cannon, and the neighbors ran in and said 
that the enemy Avere battering doAvn the old crumbly bit of 
wall where the monastery Avas burned; and just then our 
man Joseph ran back all pale, and staring, to tell us my 
father was lying badly hurt in the street. My mother hur- 
ried out, and locked the door to keep us from folio Avring. ’ ’ 
The poor child broke doAvn in tears, and her sister Avent 
on. ‘‘ Oh, we Avere so frightened — such frightful sounds 
came close, and people ran by all blood and shrieking — and 
there Avas a glare in the sky — and nobody came homfe — till 
at last it grew so dreadful that we hid in the cellar to hear 
and see nothing. Only it grew hotter and hotter, and the 
light through the little grating Avas red. And at last there 
Avas a noise louder than thunder, and, oh, such a shaking — 
for it Avas the liouse falling doAvn. But we did not knoAv 
that; Ave tried to open the door, and could not; then we 
cried and called for father and mother— and no one heard 
— and we sat still for fear, till Ave slept— and then it was 


60 


THE CHAPLET OE PEAELS. 


all dark, and we were very hungiy. I don^t know how 
time went, but at last, when it was daylight again, there 
was a talking above, a little baby crying, and a kind voice 
too; and then we called out, ‘ Oh take us out and give us 
bread/ Then a face looked down the grating. Oh! it was 
like the face of an angel to us, with all the white hair fly- 
ing round. It was the holy priest of Nissard; and when 
one of the cruel men said we were only little heretics who 
ought to die like rats in a hole, he said we were but inno- 
cents who did not know the difference. ” 

“ Ah! we did,"’"’ said the elder girl. “ You are younger, 
sister, you forget more;^^ and then, holding out her hands 
to Berenger, she exclaimed, “ Ah! ‘sir, take us away with 
you. 

My child !^^ exclaimed the prioress, “ you told me you 
were happy to be in the good course. 

Oh yes!” cried the poor child; “ but I don't want to 
be happy! I am forgetting all my poor father and mother 
used to say. I can't help it, and they would be so grieved. 
Oh, take me away, sir!" 

‘‘Take care, Agathe, you will be a relapsed heretic," 
said her sister solemnly. “ For me, I am a true Catholic. 
I love the beautiful images and the processions. '' 

“Ah! but what would our mothers have said!" cried 
poor Agathe, weeping more bitterly. 

“ Poor child, her old I'ecollections have been renewed,'' 
said the prioress, with unchanged sweetness; “but it will 
pass. My dear, the gentleman will tell you that it is as 
impossible for him to take you as it is for me to let you 
go." 

“ It is so, truly, little one," said Berenger. “ The only 
little girl I could have taken with me would have been my 
own;" and as her eyes looked at him wistfully, he added, 
“ No doubt, if your poor mother could, she would thank 
this g6od mother-prioress for teaching you to serve God and 
be a good child." 

“ Monsieur speaks well and kindly," said the prioress; 
“ and now, Agathe, make your courtesy, and take away 
the little ones. '' 

“ Let me ask one question more, reverend mother," said 
Berenger. “ Ah! children, did you ever see her whom you 
call Isaac Garden's daughter-in-law?" 

“ No, sir," said the children; “ but mother did, and she 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


61 


promised one day to take us to see the baby, for it was so 
pretty^ — so white, that she had never seen th§ like/'’ 

So white repeated Berenger to himself; and the 
prioress, struck, perhaps, by the almost flaxen locks that 
sparsely waved on his temples, and the hue of the ungloved 
hand that rested on the edge of the grille, said, smiling, 
“ You come of a fair family, monsieur/^ 

The White Eibaumonts,^" said Berenger, “ and, more- 
over, my mother was called the Swan of England; my lit- 
tle sisters have skins like snow. Ah! madame, though I 
have failed, I go away far happier than if I had succeeded. 

‘‘And I,-’^ she said, “shall cease to pray for that dear 
one as for one in the grave. ” 

“ Ah! you have prayed for me. Pray still that Heaven 
will have pity on us, and unite us once more.'’’’ 

“ And reveal the true faith,’’ began the nun; but Philip 
in the meantime was nudging his brother, and whispering 
in English, “Ho Popish prayers, I say! Stay, give these 
poor little prisoners one feast of the sweetmeats we brought. ” 

Of this last hint Berenger was glad, and the prioress read- 
ily consented to a distribution of the dainties among the or- 
phans. He wished to leave a more lasting token of his grati- 
tude to the little maiden whose father had perhaps saved Eus- 
tacie’s life, and recollecting that he had about him a great 
gold coin, bearing the heads of Philip and Maiy, he begged 
leave to offer it to Agathe, and found that it was received by 
good Mere Monique almost in the light of a relic, as bear- 
ing the head of so pious a queen. 

Then, to complete Philip’s disgust, he said, “ I took with 
me my aunt’s blessing when I set out; let me take yours 
with me also, reverend mother.” 

When they were in the street again, Philip railed at him 
as though he had subjected himself to a spell. 

“ She is almost a saint,” answered Berenger. 

“ And have we not saints enough of our own, without 
running after Popish ones beliind grates? Brother, if ever 
the good old days come back of invading France, I’ll march 
straight hither, and deliver the poor little wretches so scan- 
dalously mewed up here, and true Protestants all the time!” 

“ Hush! People are noticing the sound of your En- 
glish.” 

“ Let them! I never thanked Heaven properly before 
that I have not a drop of French — ” Here Berenger 


62 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


almost shook him by the shoulder, as men turned at liis 
broad tones ai:yd foreign words, and he walked on in silence, 
while Berenger at his side felt as one treading on air, so in- 
finite was the burden taken ofi his mind. Though for the 
present absolutely at sea as to where to seek EustjJcie, the 
relief from acquiescence in the horrible fate that had seemed 
to be hers was such, that a flood of unspeakable happiness 
seemed to rush in on him, and bear him up with a new in- 
fusion of life, buoyancy, and thankfulness. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

IN THE king's name. 

Under which king, Bezonian? speak or die. 

Under King Harry. 

^ King Henry IV. 

One bird in the hand is not always worth two in the 
bush, assuredly," said Philip, when Berenger was calm 
enough to hold council on what he called this most blessed 
discovery; ‘‘but where to seek them?" 

“ I have no fears now," returned Berenger. “We have 
not been borne tlirough so much not to be brought together 
at last. Soon, soon shall we have her! A minister so dis- 
tinguished as Isaac Garden is sure to be heard of either at 
La Rochelle, Montauban, or Ximes, their great gathering 
places. ' ' 

“ For Rochelle, then?" said Philip. 

“ Even so. We will be off early to-morrow, and from 
thence, if we do not find her there, as I expect, we shall be 
able to write the thrice happy news to those at home. " 

Accordingly, the little cavalcade started in good time, in 
the cool of the morning of the bright long day of early 
June, while apple petals floated down on them in the lanes 
like snow, and nightingales in every hedge seemed to give 
voice and tune to Berenger's eager, yearning hopes. 

Suddenly there was a sound of horses' feet in the road 
before them, and as they drew aside to make way, a little 
troop of gendarmes filled the narrow lane. The officer, a 
rough, harsh-looking man, laid his hand on Berenger's 
bridle, with the w'ords, “ In the name of the king!" 

Philip began to draw his sword with one hand^ and with 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


63 


the other to urge his horse between the oi!k?er and his broth- 
er, but Berenger called out, “ Back! This gentleman mis- 
takes my person. I am the Baron de Kibaumont, and 
have a safe-conduct from the king.’’^ 

‘‘ What king?’^ demanded the officer. 

“ From King Charles. 

“ I arrest you,’^ said the officer, in the name of King 
Henry III. and of the Queen Kegent Catherine. 

“ The king dead?^^ exclaimed Berenger. 

On the 30th of May. Now, sir. 

“ Your warrant — your cause?^^ still demanded Berenger. 

“ There will be time enough for that when you are safely 
lodged,'’^ said the captain, roughly pulling' at the rein, 
which he had held all the timei 

“ What, no warrant?’^ shouted Philip, he is a mere 
robber and with drawn sword he was precipitating him- 
self on the capain, when another gendarme, who had been 
on the watch, grappled with him, and dragged him off his 
horse before he could strike a blow. The other two En- 
glish, Humfrey Holt and John Smithers, strong, full- 
grown men, rode in fiercely to the rescue, and Berenger 
himself struggled furiously to loose himself from the cap- 
tain, and deliver his brother. Suddenly there was the re- 
port of a pistol: poor Smithers fell, there was a moment of 
standing aghast, and in that moment the one man and the 
two youths were each pounced on by three or four gen- 
darmes, thrown down and pinioned. 

‘‘ Is this usage for gentlemen?'’^ exclaimed Berenger, as 
he was roughly raised to his feet. 

‘‘ The king^s power has been resisted,’^ was all the an- 
swer; and when he would have bent to see how it was with 
poor Smithers one of the men-at-arms kicked over the body 
with sickening brutality, saying, “ Dead enough, heretic 
and English carrion 

Philip uttered a cry of loathing horror, and turned white; 
Berenger, above all else, felt a sort of frenzied despair as 
he thought of the peril of the boy who had been trusted to 
him. 

“ Have you had enough, sir?"^ said the captain. Mount 
and come. 

They could only let themselves be lifted to their horses, 
and their bands were then set free to use their bridles, each, 
being guarded by a soldier on each side of him, Philip at- 


64 


THE CHAPLET OP PEARLS. 


tempted but once to speak, and that in English, ‘‘ Next 
time I shall take my pistol. 

He was rudely silenced, and rode on with wide-open stolid 
eyes and dogged face, steadfastly resolved that no French- 
man should see him flinch, and vexed that Berenger had 
his riding-mask on so that his face could not be studied; 
while he, on his side, was revolving all causes possible for 
his arrest, and all means of enforcing the liberation, if not 
of himself, at least of Philip and Humfrey. He looked 
round for Guibert, but could not see him. 

They rode on through the intricate lanes till the sun was 
high and scorching, and Berenger felt how far he was from 
perfect recovery. At last, however, some little time past 
noon, the gendarmes halted at a stone fountain, outside a 
village, and disposing a sufficient guard around his cap- 
tives, the officer permitted them to dismount and rest, while 
he, with the rest of the troop and the horses, went to the 
village cabaret. Phihp would have asked his brother what 
it meant, and what was to be done, but Berenger shook his 
head, and intimated that silence was safest at present, since 
they might be listened to; and Philip, who so much imag- 
ined treachery and iniquity to be the order of the day in 
France that he was scarcely surprised at the present disas- 
ter, resigned himself to the same sullen endurance. Pro- 
visions and liquor were presently sent up from the inn, but 
Berenger could taste nothing but the cold water of the 
fountain, which trickled out cool and fresh beneath an arch 
surmounted by a figure of Our Lady. He bathed his face 
and head in the refreshing spring, and lay down on a cloak 
in the shade, Philip keeping a constant change of drenched 
kerchiefs on his brow, and hoping that he slept, till at the 
end of two or three hours the captain returned, gave the 
word to horse, and the party rode on through intricate 
lanes, blossoming with hawthorn, and ringing with songs 
of birds that spoke a very different language now to Be- 
renger ’s heart from what they had said in the hopeful 
morning. 

A convent bell was ringing to even-song, when passing 
its gate -way; the escort turned up a low hill, on the summit 
of which stood a chateau covering a considerable extent of 
ground, with a circuit of wall, whitewashed so as perfectly 
to glare in the evening sun; at every angle a round, slim 
turret, crowned by a brilliant red-tiled extinguisher-like 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


C5 


cap; and the whole surmounted by a tall, old keep in the 
center. There was a square projection containing an 
arched gate-way, with heavy door- ways, which were thrown 
open as the party approached. Philip looked up as he rode 
in, and over the door-way beheld the familiar fretted shield, 
with the leopard in the corner, and A moi Rihmimont 
round it. Could it then be Berenger^s own castle, and was 
it thus that he was approaching it? He himself had not 
looked up; he was utterly spent with fatigue, dejection, 
and the severe headache brought on by the heat of the sun, 
and was only intent on rallying his powers for the crisis of 
fate that was probably approaching; and thus scarcely took 
note of the court, into which he rode, lying between the 
gate- way and the cor 2 )s de logis, a budding erected when 
comfort demanded more space than was afforded by the old 
keep, against which one end leaned; but still, though in- 
closed in a court, the lower windows were small and iron- 
barred, and all air of luxury w^as reserved for the mullioned 
casements of the upper story. The court was flagged, but 
grass shot up between the stones, and the trim air of ease 
and inhabited comfort to which the brothers were used at 
home was utterly wanting. Berenger was hustled oft his 
horse, and roughly pushed through a deep porch, where .the 
first thing he heard was the Chevalier deKibaumont^s voice 
in displeasure. 

‘‘ How now, sir; hands ofi'! Is this the way you conduct 
my nephew ?^^ 

“ He resisted, sir.^^ 

“ Sir,^" said Berenger, advancing into the hall, “ I know 
not the meaning of this. I am peacefully traveling with a 
passport from the king, when I am set upon, no warrant 
shown me, my faithful servant slain, myself and my broth- 
er, an English subject, shamefully handled. 

‘‘ The violence shall be visited on whatever rascal durst 
insult a gentleman and my nephew, said the chevalier. 
“ For release, it shall be looked to; but unfortunately it is 
too true that there are orders from the queen in council for 
your apprehension, and it was only on my special entreaty 
for the honor of the family, and the affection I bear you, 
that I was allowed to receive you here instead of your being 
sent to an ordinary prison. 

“ On what pretext? demanded Berenger. 

‘‘It is known that you have letters in your possession 

3-^d half. 


6(3 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


from escaped traitors now in England, to La None, Du- 
plessis ^ornay, and other heretics. 

“ That is easily explained/^ said Berenger. You know 
well, sir, thnt they were to facilitate my search at La Sa- 
blerie. You shall see them yourself, sir."’^ 

“ That I must assuredly do,^’ replied the chevalier, “ for 
it is the order of her majesty, I regret to say, that your per- 
son and baggage be searched;'’^ then, as indignant color 
rushed into Berenger ’s face, and an angry exclamation was 
beginning, he added, “ Nay, I understand, my dear cousin, 
it is very painful, but we would spare you as much as pos- 
sible. It will be quite enough if the search is made by 
myself in the presence of tliis gentleman, who will only 
stand by for formas sake. I have no doubt it will enable 
us quickly to clear up matters, and set you free again. l)o 
me the honor to follow me to the chamber destined for 
you. " 

“Let me see the order for my arrest,^ ^ said Berenger, 
holding his head high. 

“ The English scruple must be gratified,^ ^ said the chev- 
alier. And accordingly the gendarme captain unfolded be- 
fore him a paper, which was evidently a distinct order to 
arrest and examine the person of Henri Berenger Eustache, 
Baron de Eibaumont and Sieur de Leurre, suspected of 
treasonable practices — and it bore the signature of Cathe- 
rine. 

“ There is nothing here said of my step-father^s son, 
Philip Thistle wood, nor of my servant, Humfrey Holt,^^ 
said Berenger, gathering the sense with his dizzy eyes as 
best he could. “ They can not be detained, being born 
subjects of the Queen of England. 

“They intercepted the justice of the king,^^ said the 
captain, laying his hand on Philip's shoulder. “ I shall 
have them oft* with me to the garrison of Lucon, and deal 
with them there. ' ' 

“ Wait!" said the chevalier, interposing before Beren- 
ger's fierce, horror-struck expostulation could break forth; 
“ this is an Imnorable young gentleman, son of a chevalier 
of good reputation in England, and he need not be so 
harshly dealt with. You will not separate either him or 
the poor groom from my nephew, so the queen's authority 
be now rightly acknowledged." 

The captain shrugged his shoulders, as if displeased; and 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


67 


the chevalier, turning to Berenger, said) “ You understand, 
nephew, the lot of you all depends on your not giving um- 
brage to these officers of her maje'sty. I will do my poor 
best for you; but submission is first needed. 

Berenger knew enough of his native country to be aware 
that la justice du Roi was a terrible thing, and that Philipps 
resistance had really put him in so much danger that it' 
was needful to be most careful not further to offend the 
functionary of Government; and abhorrent as the proposed 
search was to him, he made no further objection, but tak- 
ing Phi]i23^s arm, lest they should be separated, he prepared 
to follow wherever he was to be conducted. The chevalier 
led the way along a narrow stone passage, with loo})holed 
windows here and there; and Philip, for all his proud, in- 
different bearing, felt his fiesh creep as he looked for a stair 
descending into the bowels of the earth. A stair there was, 
but it went up instead of down, and after mounting this, 
and going through a sort of ante-room, a door was opened 
into a tolerably spacious apartment, evidently in the old 
keep; for the two windows on opposite sides were in an 
immensely massive wall, and the floor above and vaulting 
below were of stone; but otherwise there was nothing re- 
pulsive in the appearance of the room. There was a wood 
fire on the hearth; the sun, setting far to the north, peeped 
in aslant at one window; a mat was on the floor, tapestry 
on the lower part of the walls; a table and chairs, and a 
walnut chest, with a chess-board and a few books on it, 
were as much furniture as was to be seen in almost any liv- 
ing-room of the day. Humfrey and Guibert, too, were al- 
ready there, with the small riding valises they and poor 
Smithers had had in charge. These were at once opened, 
but contained merely clothes and linen, nothing else that 
was noticed, except three books, at which the captain looked 
with a stupid air; and the chevalier did not seem capable 
of discovering more than that all three were Jjatin — one, 
he believed, the Bible. 

‘‘Yes, sir, the Vulgate — a copy older than the Reforma- 
tion, so not liable to be called an heretical version,"" said 
Berenger, to whom a copy had been given by Lady Wal- 
wyn, as more likely to be saved if his baggage was searched. 
“"The other is the Office and Psalter after our English rite; 
and this last is not mine, but Mr. Sidney"s~a copy of Vir- 
gilius Maro, which he had left behind at Paris. "" , 


68 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


The chevalier, not willing to confess that he had taken 
the English Prayer-book for Latin, hastily said, “ Nothing 
wrong there — no, no, nothing that will hurt the State; 
may it only he so with what you carry on your yjerson, fair 
cousin. Stand back, gentlemen, this is gear for myself 
alone. Now, fair nephew,"^^ he added, “ not a hand shall 
be laid on you, if you will give me your honorable word, as 
a nobleman, that you are laying before me all that you 
carry about you.^^ 

An instant^s thought convinced Berenger that resistance 
would save nothing, and merely lead to indignity to himself 
and danger to Philip; and therefore he gave the j)romise to 
show everything about him, without compulsion. Accord- 
ingly, he produced his purse for current expenses, poor 
King Charleses safe-conduct, and other articles of no con- 
sequence, from his pockets; then reluctantly opened his 
doublet, and took oft' the belt containing his store of gold, 
which had been replenished at Walsingham^s. This was 
greedily eyed by the captain, but the chevalier at once made 
it over to Philipps keeping, graciously saying, ‘‘ We do no 
more than duty requires; but at the same time he made a 
gesture toward another small purse that hung round Beren- 
ger ^s neck by a black ribbon. 

‘‘On my sacred word and honor, said Berenger, “it 
contains nothing important to any save myself. 

“ Alas! my bounclen duty,^^ urged the chevalier. 

An angry reply died on Berenger ^s lip. At the thought 
of Philip, he opened the purse, and held out the contents 
on his palm; a tiny gold ring, a tress of black hair, a frag- 
ment of carnation-ribbon pricked with pin-holes, a string of 
small worthless yellow shells, and, threaded with them, a 
large pear-shaped pearl of countless price. Even the chev- 
alier was touched at the sight of tliis treasury, resting on 
the blanched palm of the thin, trembling hand, and jeal- 
ously watched by 'eyes glistening with sudden moisture, 
though the lips were firm set. “ Alas! my poor young 
cousin,^^ he said, “ you loved her well.-’^ 

“ Not loved, but love,^^ muttered Berenger to himself, 
as if having recourse to the only cordial that could support 
him through the present suffering; and he was closing his 
fingers again over his precious hoard, when the chevalier 
added, “ Stay! nephew— that pearl!"^ 


THE CHAPLET OF PEA ELS. 


69 


‘‘ Is one of the chaplet; the token she sent to England/'^ 
he answered. 

“ Pauvre pUite ! Then, at least a fragment remains of 
the reward of our ancestor's -courage/^ said the chevalier. 

And Berenger did not feel it needful to yield up that still 
hetler possession, stored within his heart, that la petite and 
her pearls were safe together. It was less unendurable to 
produce the leather case from a secret pocket within his 
doublet, since, unwilling as he was that any eye should 
scan the letters it contained, there was nothing in them 
that could give any clew toward tracing her. Nothing had 
been written or received since his interview with the chil- 
dren at Lucon. There was, indeed, Eustacie^s letter to his 
mother, a few received at Paris from Lord Walwyn, reluct- 
antly consenting to his journey in quest of his child, his 
English passport, the unfortunate letters to La None; and 
what evidently startled the chevalier more than all the rest, 
the copy of the certificate of the ratification of the mar- 
riage; but his consternation was so arranged as to appear 
to be all on behalf of his young kinsman. “ This is ser- 
ious!^'’ he said, striking his forehead, “ you will be accused 
of forging the late king^s name. 

“This is but a copy,^^ said Berenger, pointing to the 
heading; “ the original has been sent with our embassa- 
doPs dispatches to England. 

“ It is a pity,^"* said the chevalier, looking thoroughly 
vexed, “ that you should have brought fresh difficulties on 
yourself for a mere piece of waste paper, since, as things 
unhappily stand, there is no living person to be affected by 
the validity of your marriage. Dear cousin — he glanced 
at the officer and lowered his voice — “ let me tear this pa- 
per; it would only do you harm, and the Papal decree an- 
nuls it. 

“ I have given my word,^’ said Berenger, “ that all that 
could do me harm should be delivered up! Besides,'’^ he 
added, “ even had I the feeling for my own honor and that 
of my wife and child, living or dead, the harm, it seems to 
me, would be to those who withhold her lands from me. 

“ Ah, fair nephew! you have fallen among designing 
persons who have filled your head with absurd claims; but 
I will not argue the point now, since it becomes a family, 
not a State matter. These papers ""—and he took them 
into his hand— “ must be examined, and to-morrow Cap- 


70 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


tain Delarue will take them to Paris, with any explanation 
you may desire to offer. Meantime yon and your compan- 
ions remain my guests, at full liberty, provided you will 
give me your parole to attempt no escape. 

“ No, sir,^^ said Berenger, hotly, ‘‘ we will not become 
our own jailers, nor acquiesce in this unjust detention. I 
warn you that I am a naturalized Englishman, acknowl- 
edged by the queen as my grandfather ^s heir, and the En- 
glish embassador will inform the court what Queen Eliza- 
beth thinks of such dealings with her subjects. 

‘‘ Well said,^^ exclaimed Philip, and drawing himself up, 
he added, “ I refuse my parole, and warn you that it is at 
your peril that you imprison an Englishman. 

“ Very well, gentlemen,” said the chevalier; ‘‘ the differ- 
ence will be that I shall unwillingly be forced to let Captain 
Delarue post guards at the outlets of this tower. A room 
beneath is prepared for your grooms, and the court is like- 
wise free to you. I will endeavor to make your detention 
as little irksome as you will permit, and meantime allow 
me to show you your sleeping-chamber. He then politely, 
as if he had been ushering a prince to his apartment, led 
the way, pointing to the door through which they had em 
tered the keep, and saying, “ This is the only present com- 
munication with the dwelling-house. Two gendarmes will 
always be on the outside. He conducted the young men 
up a stone spiral stair to another room, over that which 
they had already seen, and furnished as fairly as ordinary 
sleeping-chambers were wont to be. 

Here, said their compulsoiy host, he would leave them 
to prepare for supper, when they would do him the honor 
to join him in the eating-hall on their summons by the 
steward. 

His departing bow was duly returned by Berenger, but 
no sooner did his steps die away on the stairs than the youug 
man threw himself down on his bed, in a paroxysm of suf- 
fering, both mental and bodily. 

“ Berry, Berry, what is this? Speak to me. What does 
it all mean?^^ cried Philip. 

“ How can I tell?^’’ said Berenger, showing his face for 
a moment, covered with tears; “ only that my only friend 
is dead, and some villainous trick has seized me, just — just 
as I might have found her. And I Ve been the death of’ my 
poor groom, and got you into the power of these vile das- 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 71 

tards! Oh, would that I had come alone! Would that 
they had had the sense to aim direct !' ^ 

“ Brother, brother, anything but this!’^ cried Philip. 
The rogues are not worth it. Sir Francis will have us 
out in no time, or know the reason why. I’d scorn to let 
them wring a tear from me. ” 

‘ ‘ I hope they never may, dear Phil, nor anything worse. ” 
“ Now,^’ continued Philip, “ the way will be to go down 
to supper, since they will have it so, and sit and eat at 
one’s ease as if one cared for them no more than cat and 
dog. Hark! there’s the steward speaking to Guibert. 
Come, Berry, wash your face and come. ” 

“ I — my head aches far too much, were there nothing 
else.” 

“ What! it is nothing but the sun,” said Philip. “ Put 
a bold face on it, man, and show them how little you heed.” 

How little I heed!” bitterly repeated Berenger, turn- 
ing his face away, utterly unnerved between disappoint- 
ment, fatigue, and pain; and Philip at that moment had 
little mercy. Dismayed and vaguely terrified, yet too res- 
olute in national pride to betray his own feelings, he gave 
vent to his vexation by impatience with a temperament 
more visibly sensitive than his own: “ I never thought you 
so mere a Frenchman,” he said contemptuously. “ If you 
weep and wail so like a sick wench, they will soon have their 
will of you! I’d have let them kill me before they searched 
me. ” 

‘‘ ’Tis bad enough without this from you, Phil,” said 
Berenger faintly, for he was far too much spent for resent- 
ment or self-defense, and had only kept up before the 
chevalier by dint of strong effort. Philip was somewhat 
aghast, both' at the in^•oluntary gesture of pain, and at find- 
ing there was not even spirit to be angry with him; but Jiis 
very dismay served at the moment only to feed his displeas- 
ure; and he tramped off in his heavy boots, which he chose 
to wear as a proof of disdain for his companions. He ex- 
plained that M. de Ribaumont was too much fatigued to 
come to supper, and he was accordingly marched along the 
corridor, with the steward before him bearing a lighted 
torch, and two gendarmes with halberds behind him. And 
in his walk he had ample time for, first, the resolution -that 
illness, and not dejection, should have all the credit of Be- 
renger ’s absence; then for recollecting of how short stand- 


72 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


ing liad been his bro there’s convalescence; and lastly, for a 
fury of self -execration for his own iinkindness, rude taunts, 
and neglect of the recurring illness. He wouhl have turned 
about and gone back at once, but the two gendarmes were 
close behind, and he knew Humfrey would attend to his 
brother; so he walked on to the hall — a handsome cham- 
ber, hung with armor and spoils of hunting, with a few 
pictures on the panels, and a great carved music-gallery at 
one end. The table was laid out somewhat luxuriously for 
four, according to the innovation which was beginning to 
separate the meals of the grandees from those of their 
household. 

Great concern was expressed by the chevalier, as Philip, 
in French, much improved since the time of his conversa- 
tion with Mme. de Selinville, spoke of his brothers indis- 
position, saying with emphasis, as he glared at Captain 
Delarue, that Maitre Pare had forbidden all exposure to 
midday heat, and that all their journeys had been made 
in morning or evening coolness. “ My young friend,'’^ as 
his host called him, ‘‘ should, he was assur d, have men- 
tioned this, since Captain Delarue had no tlesire but to 
make his situation as little painful as possible. And the 
chevalier sent his steward at once to offer everything the 
house contained that his prisoner could relish for supper, 
and then anxiously questioned Philip on his health and diet, 
obtaining very short and glum answers. The chevalier 
and the captain glanced at each other with little shrugs; 
and Philip, becoming conscious of his shock hair, splashed 
doublet, and dirty boots, had vague doubts whether his 
English dignity were not being regarded as English lub- 
berliness; but, of course, he hated the two Frenchmen all 
the more, and received their civility with greater grutfness. 
They asked him the present object of his journey — though, 
probably, tlie chevalier knew it before, and he told of the 
hope that they had of finding the child at Lucon. 

“ Vain, of course?^'’ said the chevalier. “ Poor infant! 
It is well for itself, as for the rest of us, that its troubles 
were ended long ago.'’^ 

Philip started indignantly. 

“ Does your brother still nurture any vain hope?^' said 
the chevalier. 

“ Eot vain, I trust, said Philip. 

“ Indeed! Who can foolishly have so inspired him with 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


73 


a hope that merely wears out his youth, and leads him into 
danger 

Philip held his tongue, resolved to be impenetrable; and 
he was so far successful, that the chevalier merely became 
convinced that the brothers were not simply riding to La 
Pochelle to embark for England, but had some hope and 
purpose in view; though as to what that might be, Philipps 
bluff replies and stubborn silence were baffling. 

After the meal, the chevalier insisted on coming to see 
how his guest fared; and Philip could not prevent him. 
They fomid Berenger sitting on the side of his bed, having 
evidently just started up on hearing their approach. Other- 
wise he did not seem to have moved since Philip left him ; 
he had not attempted to undress; and Humfrey told Philip 
that not a word had been extracted from him, but com- 
mands to let him alone. 

However, he had rallied his forces to meet the chevalier, 
and answered manfully to his excuses for the broiling ride 
to which he had been exposed, that it mattered not, the 
effect would pass, it was a mere chance; and refused all 
offers of medicaments, potions, and tisanes, till his host at 
length left the room with a most correct exchange of good- 
nights. 

“ Berry, Berry, what a brute I have been!’^ cried Philip. 

“ Foolish lad!^^ and Berenger half smiled. “ Now help 
me to bed, for the room turns round 


CHAPTER XXX. 

CAGED IH THE BLACKBIRD’S "NTEST. 

Let him shun castles; 

Safer shall he be on the sandy plain 
Than where castles mounted stand. 

King Henry VI. 

While Berenger slept a heavy morning’s sleep after a 
restless night, Philip explored the narrow domain above 
and below. The keep and its little court had evidently 
been the original castle, built when the oddly nicknamed 
Eulkes and Geoffreys of Anjou had been at daggers drawn 
with the Dukes of Normandy and Brittany, but it had since, 
like most other such ancient feudal fortresses, become the 
nucleus of walls and buildings for use, defense, or orna- 


74 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


ment, that lay beneath him like a spider's web, when he 
had gained the roof of the keep, garnished with pepper-box 
turrets at each of the four angles. Beyond lay the green 
copses and orchards of the Bocage, for it was true, as he 
had at first suspected, that this was the Chateau de Nid- 
de-Merle, and that Berenger was a captive in his wife's 
own castle. 

Chances of escape were the lad's chief thought, but the 
building on which he stood went sheer down for a consid- 
erable way. Then on the north side there came out the 
sharp, high-pitched, tiled roof of the corps du logis; on 
the south, another roof, surmounted by a cross at the gable, 
and evidently belonging to the chapel; on the other two 
sides lay courts — that to the east, a stable-yard; that to the 
west, a small narrow, chilly-looking, paved inclosure, with 
enormously massive walls, the door-way walled up, and 
looking like a true prison-yard. Beyond this wall — ^indeed, 
on every side — extended offices, servants' houses, stables, 
untidy desolate-looking gardens, and the whole was in- 
closed by the white wall with flanking red-tiled turrets, 
whose gaudy appearance had last night made Philip regard 
the whole as a flimsy, Frenchified erection, but he now saw 
it to be of extremely solid stone and lime, and with no en- 
trance but the great barbican gate-way they had entered 
by; moreover, with a yawning, dry moat all round. Wher- 
ever he looked he saw these tall, pointed red caps, resem- 
bling, he thought, those worn by the victims of an auto-da 
fe as one of Walsingham's secretaries had described them 
to him; and he ground his teeth at them, as though they 
grinned at him like emissaries of the Inquisition. 

Descending, he found Berenger dressing in haste to avoid 
receiving an invalid visit from the chevalier, looking in- 
deed greatly shaken, but hardly so as would have been de- 
tected by eyes that had not seen him during his weeks of 
hope and recovery. He was as resolved as Philip could 
wish against any sign of weakness before his enemy, and 
altogether disclaimed illness, refusing the stock of cooling 
drinks, cordials, and febrifuges, which the chevalier said 
had been sent by his sister the Abbess of Bellaise. He put 
the subject of his health aside, only asking if this were the 
day that the gendarme-captain would return to Paris, and 
then begging to see that officer, so as to have a distinct 
imderstanding of the grounds of his imprisonment. The 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


75 


captain had, however, been a mere instrument; and when 
Philip clamored to be taken before the next justice of the 
peace, even Berenger smiled at liim for thinking that such 
a being existed in France. The only cause alleged was the 
vague but dangerous suspicion of conveying correspondence 
between England and the heretics, and this might become 
extremely perilous to one undeniably half English, regard- 
ed as whole Huguenot, caught on the way to La Eochelle 
with a letter to La None in his pocket; and, moreover, to 
one who had had a personal affray with a king famous for 
storing up petty offenses, whom the last poor king had 
favored, and who, in fine, had claims to estates that could 
not be spared to the Huguenot interest. 

He was really not sure that there was not some truth in 
the professions of the chevalier being anxious to protect 
him from the queen-mother and the Guises; he had never 
been able to divest himself of a certain trust in hisold kins- 
man^s friendliness, and he was obliged to be beholden to 
him for the forms in which to couch his defense. At the 
same time he wrote to Sir Francis Walsingham, and to his 
grandfather, but with great caution, lest his letters should 
be inspected by his enemies, and with the less hope of their 
availing him because it was probable that the embassador 
would return home on the king^s death. No answer could 
be expected for .at least a fortnight, and even then it was 
possible that the queen-mother might choose to refer the 
cause to King Henry, who was then in Poland. 

Berenger wrote these letters with much thought and care, 
but when they were once sealed, he collapsed again into de- 
spair and impatience, and frantically paced the little court 
as if he would dash himself against the walls that detained 
him from Eustacie; then threw himself moodily into a 
chair, hid his face in Ms crossed arms, and fell a prey to 
all the wretched visions called up by an excited brain. 

However, he was equally alive with PMlip to the high- 
spirited resolution that his enemies should not perceive or 
triumph in his dejection. He showed himself at the noon- 
day dinner, before Captain Delarue departed, grave and 
sileixt, but betraying no agitation; and he roused liimself 
from his sad musings at the supper-hour, to arrange his 
hair, and assume the ordinary dress of gentlemen in the 
evening; though Philip laughed at the roses adorning his 
shoes, and his fresh ruff, as needless attentions to an old 


7(3 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


ruffian like the chevalier. However, Philip started when 
he entered the hall, and beheld, not the chevalier alone, 
but with him the beautiful lady of the velvet coach, and 
another stately, extremely handsome dame, no longer in 
her first youth, and in costly black and white garments. 
When the chevalier called her his sister, Mme. de Bellaise, 
Philip had no notion that she was anything but a widow, 
living a secular life; and though a cou23le of nuns attended 
her, their dress was so much less conventual than Cecily^s 
that he did not at first find them out. It was explained 
that Mme. de Selinville was' residing with her aunt, and 
that, having come to visit her father, he had detained the 
ladies to supper, hoping to enliven the sojourn of his lemix 
cousins. 

Mme. de Selinville, looking anxiously at Berenger, hoped 
she saw him in better health. He replied, stiffly, that- he 
was perfectly well; and then, by way of safety, repaired to 
the society of the abbess, who immediately began plying 
him with questions about England, its court, and especially 
the secret marriage of Queen Elizabeth, and “ ce Comte de 
Dudley, on which she was so minutely informed as to put 
him to the blush. Then she was very curious about the 
dispersed convents, and how many of the nuns had mar- 
ried; and she seemed altogether delighted to have secured 
the attention of a youth from the outer world. His soul at 
first recoiled from her as one of Eustacie^s oppressors, and 
from her unconvent-like talk; and yet he could not but 
think her a good-natured person, and wonder if she could 
really have been hard upon his poor little wife. And she, 
who had told Eustacie she would strangle with her own 
hands the scion of the rival house! — she, like most women, 
was much more bitter against an unseen being out of reach, 
than toward a courteously mannered, pale, suffering-look- 
ing youth close beside her. . She had enough affection for 
Eustacie to have grieved much at her wanderings and at 
her fate; and now the sorrow-stricken look that by no effort 
could be concealed really moved her toward the young be- 
reaved husband. Besides, were not all feuds on the point 
of being made up by the excellent device concocted between 
her brother and her niece? 

Meantime, Philip was in raptures with the kindness of 
the beautiful Mme. de Selinville. He, whom the Mistresses 
Walsingham treated as a mere clumsy boy, was jiromoted 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


77 


by her manner to be a man and a cavalier. He blushed up 
to the roots of his hair and looked sheepish whenever one. 
of her entrancing smiles lighted upon him; but then she 
inquired after his brother so cordially, she told him so open- 
ly how brilliant had been Berenger^s career at the court, 
she regretted so heartily their present danger and detention, 
and promised so warmly to use her interest with Queen 
Catherine, that, in the delight of being so talked to, he for- 
got his awkwardness and spoke freely and confidentially, 
may be too confidentialy, for he caught Berenger frowning 
at him, and made a sudden halt in his narrative, discon- 
certed but very angry with his brother for his distrust. 

When the ladies had ridden away to the convent in the 
summer evening, and the two brothers had returned to 
their prison, Philip would have begun to rave about 
Mme. de Selinville, but his mouth was stopped at once 
with, “ Don^t be such a fool, Pliil!^'’ and when Berenger 
shut his eyes, leaned back, and folded his arms together, 
there was no more use in talking to him. 

This exceeding dejection continued for a day or two, 
while Berenger^s whole spirit chafed in agony at his help- 
lessness, and like demons there ever haunted him the 
thoughts of what might betide Eustacie, young, fair, for- 
saken, and believing herself a widow. Proudly defiant as 
he showed himself to all eyes beyond his tower, he seemed 
to be fast gnawing and pining himself away in the anguish 
he sulfered through these long days of captivity. 

Perhaps it was Philip’s excitement about any chance of 
meeting Mme. de Selinville that first roused him from the 
contemplation of his own misery. It struck him that if he 
did not rouse himself to exert his influence, the boy, left 
to no companionship save what he could make for himself, 
might be led away by intercourse with the gendarmes, or 
by the blandishments of Diane, whatever might be her 
game. He must be watched over, and returned to Sir Mar- 
maduke the same true-hearted honest lad who had left 
home. Nor had Berenger lain so long under Cecily St. 
John’s tender watcliing without bearing away some notes 
of patience, trust, and dutifulness that returned upon him 
as his mind recovered tone after the first shock. The wfiiis- 
pers that had bidden him tarry the Lord’s leisure, be 
strong, and commit his way to Him who could bring it to 
pass, and could save Eustacie as she had already been 


78 


THE CHAPLET OE PEARLS. 


saved, returned to liim once more: he chid himself for his 
faintness of heart, rallied his powers, and determined that 
cheerfulness, dutifulness, and care for Philip should no 
longer fail. 

So he reviewed his resources, and in the first place ar- 
ranged for a brief daily worship with his two English fel- 
low-prisoners, corresponding to the home hours of cha2)el 
service. Then he proposed to Philip to spend an hour 
every day over the study of the Latin Bible: and when 
Philip showed himself reluctant to give up his habit of 
staring over the battlements, he represented that an attack 
on their faith was not so improbable but they ought to be 
jjrepared for it. 

“ Pm quite prepared,^ ^ quoth Philip; ‘‘ I shall not listen 
to a word they say.^'’ 

However, he submitted to this, but was far more contu- 
macious as to Berenger^s other proposal of profiting by Sid- 
ney's copy of Virgil. Here at least he was away from Mr. 
Adderley and study, and it passed endm-ance to have Latin 
and captivity both at once. He was more obliged for Beren- 
ger^s offer to imj^art to him the instruction in fencing he 
had received during his first visit to Paris; the chevalier 
made no difiicidty about lending them foils, and their little 
court became the scene of numerous encounters, as well as 
of other games and exercises. More sedentary sports were 
at their service, chess, tables, dice, or cards, but Philip de- 
tested these, and they were only played in the evening, or on 
a rainy afternoon, by Berenger and the chevalier. 

It was clearly no part of the old gentlernan^s jfian to 
break their health or spirits. He insisted on taking them 
out riding frequently, though always with four gendarmes 
with loaded arquebuses, so as to preclude all attempt at es- 
cape, or conversation with the peasants. The rides were 
hateful to both youths, but Berenger knew that so many 
hours of tedium M^ere thus disposed of, and IfojDed also to 
acquire some knowledge of the country; indeed, he looked 
at every cottage and every peasant with affectionate eyes, 
as probably having sheltered Eustacie; and Philip, after 
one visit paid to the convent at Bellaise, was always in 
hopes of making such another. His boyish admiration of 
Mme. de Selinville was his chief distraction, coming on in 
accesses whenever there was a hope of seeing her, and often 
diverting Berenger by its absurdities, even though at other 


THE CHAPLET OF J’EAELS. 


79 


times he feared that the lad might be led away by it, or 
dissension sown between' them. Meetings were rare — now 
and then Mme. de Selinville would appear at dinner or at 
supper as her father ^s guest; and more rarely, the cheva- 
lier would turn his horse^s head in the direction of Bellaise, 
and the three gentlemen would be received in the unpar- 
titioned parlor, and there treated to such lemon cakes as 
had been the ruin of La Sablerie; but in general the castle 
and the convent had little intercourse, or only Just enough 
to whet the appetite of the prisoners for what constituted 
their only variety. 

Six weeks had lagged by before any answer from Paris 
was received, and then there was no reply from Walsing- 
ham, who had, it appeared, returned home immediately 
after King Charleses funeral. The letter from the council 
bore that the queen-mother was ready to accept the Baron 
de Ribaumont^s excuses in good part, and to consider his 
youth; and she had no doubt of his being treated with the 
like indulgence by the king, provided he would prove him- 
self a loyal subject, by embracing the Catholic faith, re- 
nouncing all his illegitimate claims to the estates of Nid-de- 
Merle, and, in pledge of his sincerity, wedding his cousin, 
the Countess de Selinville, so soon as a dispensation should 
have been procured. On no other consideration could he 
be pardoned or set at liberty. 

Then,^^ said Berenger slowly, “ a prisoner I must re- 
main until it be the will of Heaven to open the doors. 

“Fair nephew exclaimed the chevalier, “make no 
rash replies. Bethink you to what you expose yourself by 
obstinacy. I may no longer be able to protect you when the 
king returns. And he further went on to represent that, 
oy renouncing voluntarily all possible claims on the Kid- 
de-Merle estates, the baron would save the honor of poor 
Eustacie (which indeed equally concerned the rest of the 
family), since they then would gladly drop all dispute of 
the validity of the marriage; and the lands of Selinville 
would be an ample equivalent for these, as well as for all 
expectations in England. 

Sir, it is impossible!” said Berenger. “ My wife 
lives. 

“ Comments when you wear mourning for her.” 

I wear black because I have been able to procure noth- 
ing else since 1 have been convinced that she did not perish 


80 


THE CHAPLET OE PEAULS. 


at La Sablerie. I was on my way to seek lier when I was 
seized and detained here. ^ ^ 

“ Where woidd you have sought her^ my poor cousin?'’^ 
compassionately asked the chevalier. 

‘‘ That I know not. She may be in England by this 
time; but that she escaped from La Sablerie, I am well as- 
sured. ^ 

“Alas! my poor friend, you feed on delusion. I have 
surer evidence — ^you shall see the man yourself — one of my 
son^s people, who was actually at the assault, and had strict 
orders to seek and save her. Would that I could feel the 
least hope left!^^ 

“ Is the man here? Let me see him,^^ said Berenger, 
hastily. 

He was at once sent for, and proved to be one of the 
stable servants, a rough, soldierly-looking man, who made 
no difficulty in telling that M. de Nid-de-Merle had bidden 
his own troop to use every effort to reach the Widow Lau- 
rent’s house, and secure the lady. They had made for it, 
but missed the way, and met with various obstacles; and 
when they reached it, it was already in flames, and he had 
seen for a moment Mile, de Eid-de-Merle, whom he well 
knew by sight, with an infant in her arms at an upper win- 
dow. He had called to her by name, and was about to 
send for a ladder, when recognizing the Ribaurnont colors, 
she had turned back, and thrown herself and her child into 
the flames. M. de Hid-de-Merle was frantic when he 
heard of it, and they had searched for the remains among 
the ruins; but, bah! it was like a lime-kiln, nothing was to 
be found — all was calcined. 

“ No fragment left?” said Berenger; “ not a corner of 
tile or beam?” 

“ Not so much wood as you could boil an egg with; I 
will swear it on the Mass. ” 

“ That is needless,” said Berenger. “ I have seen the 
spot myself. That is all I desired to ask.” 

The chevalier would have taken his hand and condoled 
with him over the horrible story; but he drew back, re- 
peating that he had seen Widow Laurent’s house, and that 
he saw that some parts of the man ’s story were so much 
falsified that he could not believe the rest. Moreover, he 
knew that Eustacie had not been in the town at the time of 
the siege. 


THE CilAPJ/ET OF PEAKLS. 


81 


Now the chevalier tona jide believed the man’s story, so 
far as that he never doubted that Eustacie had perished, 
and he looked on Berenger’s refusal to accept the tale as 
the mournful last clinging to a vain hope. In liis eyes, the 
actual sight of Eustacie, and the total destruction of the 
house, were mere matters of embellishment, possibly un- 
true, but not invalidating the main fact. He only said, 
‘‘ Well, my friend, I will not press you while the pain of 
this narration is still fresh.” 

“ Thank you, sir; but this is not pain, for I believe not 
a word of it; therefore it is impossible for me to entertain 
the proposal, even if I could forsake my faith or my En- 
glish kindred. You remember, sir, that I returned this 
same answer at Paris, when I had no hope that my wife 
survived.” 

“ True, my fair cousin, but I fear time will convince 
you that this constancy is unhappily misplaced. You shall 
have time to consider; and when it is proved to you that 
my poor niece is out of the reach of your fidelity, and when 
you have become better acquainted with the claims of the 
Church to your allegiance, then may it only prove that your 
conversion does not come too late. I have the honor to 
take my leave. ” 

“ One moment more, sir. Is there no answer as to my 
brother?” 

“None, cousin. As I told you, your country has at 
present no embassador; but, of course, on your fulfillment 
of the conditions, he would be released with you.” 

“So,” said Philip, when the old knight had quitted the 
room, “ of course you can not marry while Eustacie lives; 
but if—” 

“ Not another word, profane boy!” angrily cried Beren- 
ger. 

“ I was only going to say, it is a 2fity of one so goodly 
not to bring her over to the true faith, and take her to 
England. ” 

“ Much would she be beholden to you!” said Berenger. 
“ So!” he added, sighing, “I had little hope but that it 
would be thus. I believe it is all a web of this old plotter’s 
weaving, and that the queen-mother acts in it at his re- 
quest. He wants only to buy me ofi with his daughter’s 
estates from asserting my claim to this castle and lands; 
and I trow he will never rise up here till — till — ” 


82 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


“ Till when, Berry?^^ 

Till mayhap my grandfather can move the queen to 
do something for us; or till Madame de Selinville sees a 
face she likes better than her brother •’s carving; or — what 
can I tell? — till malice is tired out, and Heaven ^s will sets us 
free! May Eustacie only have reached home! But Pm 
sorry for you, my poor Phil. 

“ Never heed, brother,'’^ said Philip; “ what is prison to 
me, so that I can now and then see those lovely eyes?'^ 

And the languishing air of the clumsy lad was so comical 
as to beguile Berenger into a laugh. Yet Berenger^s own 
feeling would go back to his first meeting with Diane; and 
as he thought of the eyes then fixed on him, he felt that he 
was under a trial that might become more severe. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE DARK POOL OP THE FUTURE. 

Triumph, triumph, only she 
That knit his bonds can set him free. 

Southey. 

No change was made in the life of the captives of Nid- 
de-Merle after the answer from Paris, except that Pere 
Bonami, who had already once or twice dined at the cheva- 
lier’s table, was requested to make formal exposition of the 
errors of the Reformers and of the tenets of his own Church 
to the Baron de Ribaumont. 

Philip took such good care not to be deluded that, 
though he sat by to see fair play, yet it was always with 
his elbows on the table and his fingers in his ears, regard- 
less of appearing to the priest in the character of the deaf 
adder. After all, he was not the object, and good Pere 
Bonami at first thought the day his own, when he found 
that almost all his arguments against Calvinism were 
equally impressed upon Berenger’s mind, but the differ- 
ences soon revealed themselves: and the priest, though a 
good mad, was not a very happily chosen champion, for he 
was one of the old-fashioned, scantily instructed country 
priests, who were more numerous before the Jesuit revival 
of learning, and knew nothing of controversy save that 
adapted to the doctrines of Calvin; so that, in dealing with 
an Anglican of the school of Ridley and Hooker, it was 


/ 


THE CHAPLET OE PEARLS. 


83 


like bow and arrow against sword. And in those days of 
change, controversial reading was one of the primary stud- 
ies even of young laymen, and Lord Waltvyn, with a view 
to his grandson ^s peculiar position, had taken care that he 
should be well instructed, so that he was not at all unequal 
to the contest. Moreover, apart from argument, he clung 
as a point of honor to the Church as to the wife that he had 
accepted in his childhood; and often tried to recall the 
sketch that Philip Sidney had once given him of a tale that 
a friend of his designed to turn into a poem, like Ari- 
osto ^s, in terza rima, of a Red Cross knight separated from 
his Una as the true faith, and tempted by a treacherous 
Duessa, who impersonated at once Falsehood and Rome. 
And he knew so well that the least relaxation of his almost 
terrified resistance would make him so entirely succumb to 
Diane’s beauty and brilliancy, that he kept himself stiffly 
frigid and reserved. 

Diane never openly alluded to the terms on which he 
stood, but he often found gifts from unknown hands placed 
in his room. The books which he had found there were 
changed when he had had time to study them; and marks 
were placed in some of the most striking passages. They 
were of the class that turned the brain of the Knight of La 
Mancha, but with a predominance of the pastoral, such as 
the Diana of George of Montemayor and his numerous imi- 
tators — which Philip thought horrible stulf — enduring 
nothing but a few of the combats of Amadis de Gaul or 
Palmerin of England, until he found that Mme. de Selin- 
ville prodigiously admired the “ silly swains more silly than 
their sheep, ” and was very anxious that M. le Baron should 
he touched by their beauties; whereupon honest Philip 
made desperate efforts to swallow them in his brother’s 
stead, but was always found fast asleep in the very middle 
of arguments between Damon and Thyrsis upon the dev- 
oirs of love, or the mourning of some disconsolate nymph 
over her jealousies of a favored rival. 

One day, a beautiful ivory box, exhaling sweet perfume, 
appeared in the prison chamber, and therewith a sealed 
letter in verse, containing an affecting description of how 
Corydon had been cruelly torn by the lions in endeavoring 
to bear away Sylvie from her cavern, how Sylvie had been 
rent from him and lost, and how vainly he continued to 
bewail her, and disregard the loving lame it of Daphne, 


84 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


who had ever mourned and pined for him as she kept her 
flock, made the rivulets, the brooks, the mountains re-echo 
with her sighs and plaints, and had wandered through the 
hills and valleys, gathering simples wherewith she had com- 
pounded a balsam that might do away with the scars that 
the claws of the lions had left, so that he might again ap- 
pear with the glowing cheeks and radiant locks that had 
excited the envy of the god of day. 

Berenger burst out laughing over the practical part of 
this poetical performance, and laughed the more at Philipps 
hurt, injured air at his mirth. Philip, who would have 
been the first to see the absurdity in any other Daphne, 
thought this a passing pleasant device, and considered it 
very unkind in his brother not even to make experiment of 
the balsam of simples, but to declare that he had much 
rather keep his scars for Eustacie^s sake than wear a 
smooth face to please Diane. 

Still Berenger ^s natural courtesy stood in his way. He 
could not help being respectful and attentive to the old 
chevalier, when their terms were, apparently at least, those 
of host and guest; and to a lady he could not be rude and 
repellent, though he could be reserved. So, when the kins- 
folk met, no stranger w^ould have discovered that one was a 
prisoner and the others his captors. 

One August day, when Mme. de Selin ville and her lady 
attendants were supping at the castle at the early hour of 
six, a servant brought in word that an Italian peddler craved 
leave to display his wares. He was welcome, both for need^s 
sake and for amusement, and was readily admitted. He 
was a handsome olive-faced Italian, and was followed by a 
little boy with a skin of almost Moorish dye — and great was 
the display at once made on the tables, of 

“ Lawn as white as driven snow, 

Cyprus, black as e’er was erow; 

Gloves as sweet as fragrant posies, 

Masks for faces and for noses;” 

and there was a good deal of the eager, desultory bargain- 
ing that naturally took place wliere purchasing was an un- 
usual excitement and novelty, and was to form a whole 
evening’s amusement. Berenger, while supplying the de- 
fects of his scanty traveling wardrobe, was trying to make 
out whether he had seen the man before, wondering if he 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


85 


were the same whom he had met in the forest of Mont- 
pipeau, though a few differences in dress, hair, and beard 
made him somewhat doubtful. 

Perfumes? Yes, lady, I have store of perfumes; am- 
bergris and violet dew, and the Turkish essence distilled 
from roses; yea and the finest spirit of the Venus myrtle- 
tree, the secret known to the Roman dames of old, whereby 
they secured perpetual beauty and love — though truly 
madame should need no such essence. That which nature 
has bestowed on her secures to her all hearts — and one val- 
ued more than all. ” 

“ Enough, said Diane, blushing somewhat, though Avith 
an elfort at laughing off his words; “ these are the tricks 
of your trade. 

“ Madame is incredulous; yet, lady, 1 have been in the 
East. Yonder boy comes from the land where there are 
spells that make known the secrets of lives. 

The Old chevalier, who had hitherto been taken up with 
the abstruse calculation — derived from his past days of 
economy — how much ribbon would be needed to retrim 
liis mm'Yej just-au-corps, here began to lend an ear, though 
saying nothing. Philip looked on in open-eyed wonder, 
and nudged his brother, who muttered in return, “Jug 
glery!"^ 

“ Ah, the fair company are all slow to believe,'’’ said the 
peddler. “ Hola, Alessio!” and taking a glove that Philip 
had left on the table, he held it to the boy. A few unintel- 
ligible words passed between them; then the boy pointed 
direct to Philip, and waved his hand northward. “ He says 
the gentleman who owns this glove comes from the North, 
from far away,” interpreted the Italian; then as the boy 
made the gesture of walking in chains, “ that he is a cap- 
tive.” 

“ Ay,” cried Philip, “ right, lad; and can he tell how 
long I shall be so?” 

“ Things yet to come,” said the mountebank, “ are only 
revealed after long preparation. For them must he gaze 
into the dark pool of the future. The present and the past 
he can divine by the mere touch of what has belonged to 
the person. ” 

“It is passing strange,” said Philip to Mme. de Selin- 
ville. “ You credit it, madame?” 

“ Ah, have we not seen the wonders come to pass that a 


86 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


like diviner foretold to the queen-mother?^^ said Diane; 
“ her sons should be all kings — that was told to her when 
the eldest was yet Dauphin. 

‘‘ And there is only one yet to come/^ said Philip;, awe- 
struck. , “ But see, what has he now?^^ 

“ Veronique^s kerchief/^ returned Mme. de Selinville, 
as the Italian began to interpret the boy^s gesture. 

• ‘‘ Pretty maidens, he says, serve fair ladies — bear tokens 
for them. Tins damsel has once been the bearer of a bou- 
quet of heather of the pink and white, whose bells were to 
ring hope. 

“ Eh, eh, madame, it is trueT^ cried Veronique, crimson 
with surprise and alarm. “ Monsieur le Baron knows it is 
true. 

Berenger had started at this revelation, and uttered an 
inarticulate exclamation; but at that moment the boy, in 
whose hand his master had placed a crown from the money 
newly paid, began to make vehement gestures, which the 
man interpreted. “ Le Balafref he says, pardon me, gen- 
tlemen, le Balafre could reveal even a deeper scar of the 
heart than of the visage — and the boy^s brown hand was 
pressed on his heart — “ yet truly there is yet hope (e 8 ~ 
perance) to be found. Yes — as the boy put his hand to 
his neck — ‘‘ he bears a pearl, parted from its sister pearls. 
Where they are, there is hope. Who can miss Hope, who 
has sought it at a royal death-bed 

‘‘ Ah, where is it?^^ Berenger could not help exclaiming. 

‘‘ Sir,^^ said the peddler, “ as I told messieurs and mes- 
dames before, the spirits that cast the lights of the future 
on the dark pool need invocation. Ere he can answer Mon- 
sieur le Barones demands, he and I must have time and 
seclusion. If Monsieur le Chevalier will grant us an empty 
room, there will we answer all queries on which the spirits 
will throw light. 

“ And how am I to know that you will not bring the 
devil to shatter the castle, my friend ?^^ demanded the 
chevalier. ‘‘ Or more likely still, that 3^011 are not laugh- 
ing all the time at these credulous boys and ladies 

“ Of that, sir, you may here convince yourself, said the 
mountebank, putting into his hand a sort of credential in 
Italian, signed by Renato di Milano, the queen ^s perfumer, 
testifying to the skill of his compatriot Ercole Stizzito both 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 87 

in perfumery, cosmetics, and in the secrets of occult sci- 
ences. 

The che'V'iilier was no Italian scholar, and his daughter 
interpreted the scroll to him, in a rapid low voice, adding, 
“ I have had many dealings with Eene of Milan, father. I 
know he speaks sooth. There can be no harm in letting 
the poor man play out his play — all the castle servants will 
be frantic to have their fortunes told. 

‘‘ I must speak with the fellow first, daughter, said the 
chevalier. “ He must satisfy me that he has no unlawful 
dealings that could bring the Church down on us.^^ And 
he looked meaningly at the mountebank, who replied by a 
whole muster-roll of ecclesiastics, male and female, who 
had heard and approved his predictions. 

A few more words with thee, fellow,^'’ said the cheva- 
lier, pointing the way to one of the rooms opening out of 
the hall. As master of the house 1 must be convinced of 
his honesty,^ ^ he added. “ If I am satisfied, then who 
will may seek to hear their fortune. 

Chevalier, man and boy disappeared, and Philip was the 
first to exclaim, ‘‘ A strange fellow! What will he tell us? 
Madame, shall you hear him?^^ 

“ That depends on my father^s report, she said. “ And 
yet, sadly and pensively, “my future is dark and void 
enough. Why should I vex myself with hearing it?^^ 

“ Nay, it may brighten,'’ said Philip. 

“ Scarcely, while hearts are hard,^^ she murmured with 
a slight shake of the head, that Philip thought indescriba- 
bly touching; but Berenger was gathering his purchases to- 
gether, and did not see. “ And you, brother, said Pliili]), 
“ you mean to prove him?'’^ 

“ No,-’’ said Berenger. “ Have you forgotten, Phil, the 
anger we met with, when we dealt with the gypsy at Hurst 
Fair?’^ 

“ Pshaw, Berry, we are past flogging now.^^ 

“ Out of reach, Phil, of the rod, but scarce of the teach- 
ing it struck into us. 

“ What?’^ said Philip sulkily. 

“ That divining is either cozening man or forsaking God, 
Phil. Either it is falsehood, or it is a lying wonder of the 
devil. 

“ But, Berry, this man is no cheat. 

“ Then he is worse. 


88 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


‘‘ Only, turn not away, brother. How should he have 
known things that even I know not? the heather.'’^ 

‘‘No marvel in that,’^ said Berenger. “ This is the very 
man I bought Annora^s fan from; he was prowling round 
Montpipeau, and my heather was given to Veronique with 
little secrecy. Aiifl as to the royal deathbed, it was Eene, 
his master, who met me there. 

“ Then you think it mere cozening? If so, we should 
find it out. 

“I donT reckon myself keener than an accomplished 
Italian mountebank,^'’ said Berenger, dryly. 

Further conference was cut short by the return of the 
chevalier, saying, in his paternal genial way, “ Well, chil- 
dren, I have examined the fellow and his credentials, and 
for those who have enough youth and hope to care to have 
the future made known to them, bah! it is well. 

“ Is it sorcery, sir?^^ asked Philip, anxiously. 

The chevalier shrugged his shoulders. “ What know I?” 
he said. “ For those who have a fine nose for brimstone 
there may be, but he assures me it is but the white magic 
practiced in Egypt, and the boy is Christian!^'’ 

“ Did you try his secrets, father?’-’ inquired Mme. de 
Selinville. 

“ I, my daughter? An old man’s fortune is in his chil- 
dren. What have I to ask?” 

“ I — I scarcely like to be the first!” said the lady, eager 
but hesitating. “ Veronique, you would have your fort- 
une told?” 

“ I will be the first,” said Philip, stepping forward man- 
fully. “ I will prove him for you, lady, and tell you 
whether he be a cozener or not; or if his magic be fit for 
you to deal with. ” 

And confident in the inherent intuition of a plain En- 
glishman, as well as satisfied to exercise his resolution for 
once in opposition to Berenger ’s opinion. Master Thistle- 
wood stepped toward the closet where the Italian awaited 
his clients, and Berenger knew that it would be worse than 
useless to endeavor to withhold him. He only chafed at the 
smile which passed between father and daughter at this 
doughty self-assertion. 

There was a long silence. Berenger sat with his eyes 
fixed on the window where the twilight horizon was still 
soft and bright with the pearly gold of the late sunset. 


THE CHAPLET OE PEAELS. 


89 

thinking with an intensity of yearning what it would be 
could he truly become certain of Eustacie's present doings; 
questioning whether he would try to satisfy that longing by 
the doubtful auguries of the diviner, and then, recollecting 
how he had heard from wrecked sailors that to seek to de- 
lude their thirst with se^-water did but aggravate their 
misety. lie knew that whatever he ' might hear would be un- 
worthy of confidence. Either it might have been prompted 
by the* chevalier, or it might be merely framed *to soothe 
and please him — or, were it a genuine oracle, lie had no 
faith in the instinct that was to perceive it, but what he 
had faith in was the Divine protection over his lost ones. 
“ 1 ^ 0 / ' he thought to himself, “ I will not by a presumptu- 
ous sin, in my own impatience, risk incurring woes on 
them that deal with familiar spirits and wizards that peep 
and mutter. If ever I am to hear of Eustacie again, it 
shall be by God^s will, not the devil's. 

Diane de Selinville had been watching his face all the 
time, and now said, with that almost timid air of gayety 
that she wore when addressing him: “You too, cousin,, are 
awaiting Monsieur Pliilippe's report to decide whether to 
look into the pool of mystciy." 

“ Not at all, madame," said Berenger, gravely. “ I do 
not under&tand white magic." 

^^Our good cousin has been too well bred among the Re- 
formers to condescend to our ht^tle wickednesses, daughter," 
said the chevalier; and the sneer — much like that which 
would await a person now who scrupled at joining in table- 
turning or any form of spiritualism — purpled Berenger's 
scar, now his only manner of blushing; but he instantly 
perceived that it was the chevalier's desire that he should 
consult the conjurer, and therefore became the more re- 
solved against running into a trap. 

“I am sure," said Mme. de Selinville, earnestly, though 
with an affectation of lightness, “ a little wickedness is fair 
when there is a great deal at stake. For my part, I would 
not hesitate long, to find out how soon the king will relent 
toward my fair cousin here!" 

“ That, madame," said Berenger, with the same grave 
dryness, “ is likely to be better known to other persons than 
this wandering Greek boy." 

Here Philip's step was heard returning hastily. He was 
pale, and looked a good deal excited, so that Mme. de 


90 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAllLS. 


Selinville uttered a little cry, and exclaimed, Ah! is it so 
dreadful tlieii?^'’ 

“No, no, madame,^^ said Philip, turning round, with a 
fervor and confidence he had never before shown. “ On 
my word, there is nothing formidable. You see nothing — 
nothing but the Italian and the boy. The boy gazes into a 
vessel of some black liquid, and sees — sees there all you 
would have revealed. Ah!^^ 

“ Then you believe?’^ asked Mme. de Selinville. . 

“ It can not be false, answered Philip; “he told me 
everything. Things he could not have known. My very 
home, my father’s house, passed in review before that 
strange little blackamoor’s eyes; where I — though I would 
have given worlds to see it — beheld only the lamp mirrored 
in the dark pool. ’ ’ 

“How do you know it was your father’s house?” said 
Berenger. 

“ I could not doubt. Just to test the fellow, I bade him 
ask for my native place. The little boy gazed, smiled, bab- 
bled his gibberish, pointed. The man said he spoke of ft 
fair mansion among green fields and hills, ‘ a grand cava- 
lier embonpoint ’ — those were his very words — at the door, 
with a tankard in one hand. Ah! my dear father, why 
could not I see him too? But who could mistake him or 
the manor?” 

“ And did he speak of future as well as past?” said 
Diane. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” said Philip, with more agitation. 
“ Lady, that will you know for yourself. ” 

“ It was not dreadful?” she said, rising. 

“ Oh no;” and Philip had become crimson, and hesitat- 
ed; “ certes, not dreadful. But — I must not say more. ” 

“ Save good-night,” said Berenger, rising. “ See, our 
gendarmes are again looking as if we had long exceeded 
their patience. It is an hour later than we are wont to re- 
tire.” 

“ If it be your desire to consult this mysterious fellow 
now you have heard your brother’s report, my dear baron,” 
said the chevalier, “ the gendarmes may devour their im- 
patience a little longer. ” 

“ Thanks, sir,” said Berenger; “but I am not tempt- 
ed,” and he gave the usual signal to the gendarmes, who. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


91 


during meals, used to stand as sentries at the great door of 
the hall. 

‘‘It might settle your mind/" muttered Philip, hesitat- 
ing “ And yet — yet — "" 

Put he used no persuasions, and permitted himself to be 
escorted with his brother along the passages to their own 
chamber, where he threw himself into a chair with a long 
sigh, and did not speak. Berenger meantime opened the- 
Bible, glanced over the few verses he meant to read, found 
the place in the Prayer-])ook, and was going to the stairs to 
call Humfrey, when Philip broke forth: “ Wait, Beriy; 
don’t be in such haste.” 

“ What, you want time to lose the taste of your dealings 
wdth the devil?” said Berenger, smiling. 

“Pshaw! no devil in the matter,” testily. said Philip. 
“No, I was only wishing you had not had a Puritan fit, 
and seen and heard for yourself. Then I should not have 
had to tell you,” and he sighed. 

“ I have no desire to be told,” said Berenger, who had 
become more fixed in the conviction that it was an im- 
posture. 

“ No desire! Ah! I had none when I knew what it was. 
But ypu ought to know. ” 

“ Well,” said Berenger, “ you will burst anon if I open 
not my ears.” 

“ Dear Beriy, speak not thus. It will be the worse for 
you when you do hear. Alack, Berenger, all ours have 
been vain hopes. I asked for her — and the boy fell w^ell- 
nigh into convulsions of terror as he gazed; spoke of flames 
and falling houses. That was wherefore I pressed you not 
again — it would have wrung your heart too much. The 
boy fairly wept and writhed himself, crying out in his 
tongue for pity on the fair lady and the little babe in the 
burning house. Alack! brother,” said Philip, a little hurt 
that his brother had not changed countenance. 

“ This is the lying tale of the man-at-arms which our 
own eyes contradicted,” said Berenger; “ and no doubt was 
likewise inspired by the chevalier.” 

“ See the boy, brother! How should he have heard the 
chevalier? Nay, yon might hug your own belief, but it is 
hard that we should both be in durance for your mere 
dream that she lives. ” 

“ Come, Phil, it will be the devil indeed that sows dis- 


92 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAliLS. 


sension between us/^ said Berenger. ‘‘You know well 
enough that were it indeed with my poor Eustacie as they 
would fain have us believe, rather tlian give up her fair 
name I would rot in prison for life. Or would you have 
me renounce my faith, or wed Madame de Selinville upon 
the witnesses of a pool of ink that I am a widower.^^'’ he 
added, almost laughing. 

“For that matter, muttered Philip, a good deal 
ashamed and half affronted, “ you know I value the Prot- 
estant faith so that I never heard a word from the wily old 
priest. Nevertheless, the boy, when I asked of our release, 
saw the gates set open by Love.'’^ 

“ What did Love look like in the pool? Had he wings 
like the cupids in the ballets at the Louvre?'’'’ asked Be- 
renger provokingly. 

“ I tell you I saw nothing, ” said Philip tartly: “ this was 
the Italian's interpretation of the boy’s gesture. It was to 
be by means of love, he said, and of a lady who* — He 
made it plain enough who she was,” added the boy, color- 
ing. , , _ 

“ No doubt, as the chevalier had taught him. ” 

“ You have prejudged, and are deaf to all,'” said Philip. 
“ What, could the chevalier have instructed him to say 
that I — I — ” he hesitated, “ that my — my love — I mean 
that he saw my shield per pale with the field fretty and the 
sable leopard. ” 

“Oh! it is to be my daughter, is it?'’'’ said Berenger, 
laughing; “I am very happy to entertain your proposals 
for her.” 

“ Berenger, what mocking fiend has possessed you?” 
cried Philip, half angrily, half pitifully. “ How can you 
so speak of that poor child?” 

“ Because the more they try to force on me the story of 
her fate, the plainey it is to me that they do not believe it. I 
shall find her yet, and then, Phil, you shall have the first 
chance. ” 

Philip growled. 

“ Well, Phil,” said his brother, good-humoredly, “ any 
way, till this Love comes that is to let us out, doiPt let 
Moor or fiend come between us. Let me keep my credence 
for the honest bailli’s daughters at Lucon; and remember 
I would give my life to free you, but I can not give away 
my faith,” Philip bent his head, He was of too stubborn 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


93 


a mold to express contrition or affection, but he -mused for 
five minutes, then called Humfrey> and at the last mo- 
ment, as the heavy tread came upstairs, he turned round 
and said, “ Youh’e in the right on^t there. Berry. Hap 
what hap, the foul fiend may carry off the conjurer before 
I murmur at you again! Still I wish you had seen him. 
You would know ^tis sooth. ♦ 

While Berenger, in his prison chamber, with the lamj)- 
light beaming on his high white brow and clear eye, stood 
before his two comrades in captivity, their true-hearted 
faces composed to reverence, and as he read, I have 
hated them that hold of superstitious vanities, and my trust 
hath been in the Lord. I will be glad and rejoice in Thy 
mercy, for Thou hast considered my trouble and hast 
known my soul in adversities/ ' feeling that here was the 
oracle by which he was willing to abide — Diane de Selinville 
was entering the cabinet where the secrets of the future 
were to be unveiled. 

There she stood — the beautiful Court lady — her lace coif 
(of the Mary of Scotland type) well framed the beautiful 
oval of her face, and set off the clear olive of her complex- 
ion, softened by short jetty curls at the temples, and light- 
ed by splendid dark eyes, and by the smiles of a perfect 
pair of lips. A transparent veil hung back over the ruff 
like frost-work-formed fairy wings, and over the white silk 
bodice and sleeves laced with violet, and the violet skirt that 
fell in ample folds on the ground; only, however, in the 
dim light revealing by an occasional gleam that it w^as not 
black. It was a stately presence, yet withal there was a 
tremor, a quiver of the downcast eyelids, and a trembling 
of the fair hand, as though she were ill at ease; even though 
it was by no means the first time she had trafficked with 
the dealers in mysterious arts wLo swarmed around Cath- 
erine de Medecis. There were words lately uttered that 
weighed with her in their simplicity, and she could not for- 
get them in that gloomy light, as she gazed on the brown 
face of the Italian, Ercole, faultless in outline as a classical 
mask, but the black depths of the eyes sparkling with in- 
tensity of observation, as if they were everywhere at once 
and gazed through and through. He wore his national 
dress, with the short cloak over one shoulder; but the little 
boy, who stood at the table, had been fastastically arrayed 
in {I sort of semi-Albanian garb^ a red cap with a long tas- 


94 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


sel, a dark, gold -embroidered velvet jacket sitting close to 
his body, and a white kilt over his legs, bare except for 
buskins stiff with gold. The poor little fellow looked pale 
in spite of his tawny hue, his enormous black eyes were • 
heavy and weary, and he seemed to be trying to keep aloof 
from the small brazen vessel formed by the coils of two 
serpents that held the inky liquid of which Philip had 
spoken. 

No doubt of the veritable nature of the charm crossed 
Diane; her doubt was of its lawfulness, her dread of the 
supernatural region she was invading. She hesitated be- 
fore she ventured on her first question, and started as the 
Italian first spoke — “ What would the eccellentissima? 
Ladies often hesitate to speak the question nearest their 
hearts. Yet is it ever the same. But the lady must be 
pleased to form it herself in words, or the lad will not see 
her vision.^'’ 

“ Where, then, is my brother?-’^ said Diane, still re- 
luctant to come direct to the point. 

The boy gazed intently into the black pool, his great eyes 
dilating till they seemed like black wells, and after a long 
time, that Diane could have counted by the throbs of her 
heart, he began to close his fingers, j^erform the action 
over the other arm of one playing on the lute, throw his 
head back, close his eyes, and appear to be singing a lul- 
laby. Then he spoke a few w^ords to his master quickly. 

‘‘ He sees,^^ said Ercole, ‘‘ a gentleman touching the 
lute, seated in a bedroom, where lies, on a rich pillow, 
another gentleman — and as the boy stroked his face, and 
pointed to his hands — “ wearing a mask and gloves. It is, 
he says, in my own land, in Italy,'’^ and as the boy made 
the action of rowing, in the territory of Venice.'’^ 

“It is well,” said Mme. de Selinville, who knew that 
nothing was moj’e probable than that her brother should be 
playing the king to his sleep in the medicated mask and 
gloves that cherished the royal complexion, and, moreover, 
that Henry was lingering to take his pastime in Italy to the 
great inconvenience of his kingdom. 

Her next question came nearer her heart — “ You saw the 
gentleman with a scar. Will he leave this castle?” 

The boy gazed, then made gestures of throwing his arms 
wide, and of passing out; and as he added his few words, 
the master explained; “ He sees the gentleman leaving the 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


95 


castle, through open gate, in full day, on horseback; and 
— and it is madame who is with them, he added, as the 
lad pointed decidedly to her, ‘‘it is madame who ojiens 
their prison/^ 

Diane^s face lighted with gladness for a moment; then 
she said, faltering (most women of her day would not have 
been even thus reserved), “ Then I shall marry again?^^ 

The boy gazed and knitted his brow; then, without any 
pantomime, looked up and spoke. “ The eccellentissima 
shall be a bride once more, he says,^^ explained the man, 
“but after a sort he can not understand. It is exhaust- 
ing, lady, thus to gaze into the invisible future; the boy 
becomes confused and exhausted ere long. 

“ Once more — I will only ask of the past. My cousin, is 
he married or a widower?^-’ 

The boy clasped his hands and looked imploringly, shak- 
ing his head at the dark pool, as he muttered an entreating 
word to his master. “Ah! madame, said the Italian, 
“ that question hath already been demanded by the young 
Inglese. The poor child has been so terrified by the scene 
it called up, that he implores he may not see it again. A 
sacked and burning town, a lady in a fiaming house — 

“ Enough, enough, said Diane; “ I could as little bear 
to hear as he to see. It is what we have ever known and 
feared. And now — she blushed as she spoke — “ sir, you 
will leave me one of those potions that Signor Renato is 
wont to compound. 

“ CapiscoT^ said Ercole, with a rapid motion of his 
head. 

“ It must be such,^^ added Diane, “ as can be disguised 
in sherbet or milk. All hitherto have failed, as the person 
in question tastes no wine.^' 

‘‘It will take a more refined preparation — a subtler es- 
sence,^'’ returned Ercole; “but the eccellentissima shall 
be obeyed if she will supply the means, for the expenses 
will be heavy. 

The bargain was agreed upon, and a considerable sum 
advanced for a philter, compounded of strange Eastern 
plants and mystic jewels; and then Diane, with a shudder 
of relief, passed into the full light of the hall, bade her 
father good-night, and was handed by him into the litter 
that had long been awaiting her at the door. 

The chevalier, then, with care on his brow, bent his steps 


9C 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


toward the apartment where the Italian still remained 
counting the money he had received. 

‘‘So!'’'’ he said as he entered, “ so, fellow, I liave not 
hindered your gains, and you have been true to your agree- 
ment?'’'’ 

“ Illustrissimo, yes. The pool of vision mirrored the 
flames, but nothing beyond — nothing — nothing.'’^ 

“ They asked you then no more of those words you threw 
out of Esperance?^^ 

“ Only the English youth, sir; and there were plenty of 
other hopes to dance before the eyes of such a lad! With 
Monsieur le Baron it will be needful to be more guarded. 

. “ Monsieur le Baron shall not have the opportunity,-’^ 

said the chevalier. “ He may abide by his decision, and 
what the younger one may tell him. Fear not, good man, 
it shall be made good to you, if you obey my commands. 
I have other work for you. But first repeat to me more 
fully what you told me before. Where was it that you saw 
this unhappy girl under the name of Esperance?^^ 

“ At a hostel, sir, at Charente, wliere she was attending 
on an old heretic teacher of the name of Gardon, who had 
falleji sick there, being pinched by the fiend with rheumatic 
pains after his deserts. She bore the name of Esperance 
Gardon, and passed for his son'’s widow. 

‘ ‘ And by what means did you know her not to be the 
mean creature she pretended?^^ said the chevalier, with a 
gesture of scornful horror. 

‘ ‘ Illustrissimo, I never forget a face. I have seen this 
lady with Monsieur le Baron when they made purchases of 
various trinkets at Montpipeau; and I saw her fully again. 
I had the honor to purchase from her certain jewels, that 
the eccellenza will probably redeem; and even — pardon, 
sir — I cut off and bought of her her hair.'’^ 

“ Her hair!^^ exclaimed the chevalier, in horror. “ The 
miserable girl to have fallen so low! Is it with you, fel- 
low?^^ 


“ Surely, illustrissimo. Such tresses — so diining, so 
silky, so well kept — I reserved to adorn the heads of Signor 
Eenato’s most princely customers,^^ said the man, unpack- 
ing from the inmost recesses of one of his most ingeniously 
arranged packages a parcel which contained the rich mass 
of beautiful black tresses. “Ah! her head looked so 
noble, he added, “ that I felt it profane to let my scissors 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


97 


touch those locks; but she said she could never wear them 
openly more, and that they did but take up her time, and 
were useless to her child and her father — as she called him; 
and she much needed the medicaments for the old man 
that I gave her in exchange. 

“ Heavens! A daughter of Eibaumont!^^ sighed the 
chevalier, clinching, his hand. “And now, man, let me 
see the jewels with which the besotted child parted. 

The jewels were not many, nor remarkable. Ho one but 
a member of the family would have identified them, and 
not one of the pearls was there; and the chevalier refrained 
from inquiring after them, lest by putting the Italian on 
the scent of anything so exceptionally valuable, he should 
defeat his own object, and lead to the man^s securing the 
pearls and running away with them. But Ercole under- 
stood his glance, with the quickness of a man whose trade 
forced him to read countenances. The eccellenza is 
looking for the pearls of Ribaumont? The lady made no 
offer of them to me. 

“ Do you believe that she has them still?^^ 

“ I am certain of it, sir. I know that she has jewels — 
though she said not what they were — which she preserved 
at the expense of her hair. It was thus. The old man 
had, it seems, been for weeks on the rack with pains caught 
by a chill when they fled from .La Sablerie, and, though 
the fever had left him, he was still so stiff in the joints as 
to be unable to move. I prescribed for him unguents of 
balm and Indian spice, which, as the eccellenza knows are 
worth far more than their weight in gold; nor did these 
jewels make up the cost of these, together with the warm 
cloak for him, and the linen for her child that she had 
been purchasing. I tell you, sir, the babe must have no 
linen but the finest fabric of Oambrai — yes, and even carna- 
tion-colored ribbons — though, for herself, I saw the home- 
spun she was sewing.. As she mused over what she could 
throw back, I asked if she had no other gauds to make -up 
the price, and she said, almost within herself, ‘ They are 
my child’s, not mine.’ Then remembering that I had 
been buying the hair of the peasant maidens, she suddenly 
offered me her tresses. But I could yet secure the pearls, 
if eccellenza would. ” 

“Do you then believe her to be in any positive want or 
distress?” said the chevalier. 

4-«d half 


98 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


“ Signor, no. The heretical households among whom 
she travels gladly support the families of their teachers, and 
at Catholic inns they pay their way. I understood them to 
be on their way to a synod of Satan at that nest of heretics, 
Montauban, where doubtless the old miscreant would obtain 
an appointment to some village.'’^ 

“ When did you thus fall in with tliern?^^ 

“ It was on one of the days of the week of Pentecost, 
said Ercole. “ It is at that time I frequent fairs in those 
parts, to gather my little harvest on the maidens^ heads. 

‘‘ ParUeu ! class not my niece with tliose sordid beings, 
man,^^ said the chevalier, angrily. ‘‘ Here is your price 
— tossing a heavy purse on the table — ‘ ‘ and as much more 
shall await you when you bring me sure intelligence where 
to lind my niece. You understand; and mark, not one 
word of the gentleman you saw here. You say she believes 
him dead?^^ 

“ The illustrissimo must remember that she never 
dropped her disguise with me, but I fully think that she 
supposes herself a widow. And I understand the eccel- 
lenza, she is still to think so. I may be depended on. 

“You understand, repeated the chevalier, “this sun 
shall reward you when you have informed me where to fine, 
her — as a man like you can easily trace her from Montau* 
ban. If you have any traffickings with her, it shall bo 
made worth your while to secure the pearls for the family; 
but, remember, the first object is herself, and that she 
should be ignorant of the existence of him whom she fan- 
cied her husband. 

“ I see, signor; and not a word, of course, of my having 
come from you. I will discover her, and leave her noble 
family to deal with her. Has the illustrissimo any further 
commands?^^ 

“ None, began the chevalier; then, suddenly, “ This 
unhappy infant — is it healthy? Did it need any of your 
treatment?^ ^ 

“ Signor, no. vTt was a fair, healthy bambina of a year 
old, and I heard the mother boasting that it had never had 
a day^’s illness.'’^ 

“ Ah, the less a child has to do in the world, the more is 
it bent on living,” said the chevalier with a sigh; and then, 
with a parting greeting, he dismissed the Italian, but only 
to sup under the careful surveillance of the steward, and 


THE CHAPLET OE PEAKLS. 


99 


then to be conveyed by early morning light beyond the ter- 
ritory where the affairs of Ribaumont were interesting. 

But the chevalier went through a sleepless night. Long 
did he pace up and down his chamber, grind his teeth, 
clinch his fists and point them at his head, and make 
gestures of tearing his thin gray locks; and many a military 
oath did he swear under his breath as he thought to what a 
pass things had come. His brother's daughter waiting on 
an old Huguenot bourgeois, making sugar-cakes, selling 
her hair! and what next? Here was she alive after all, 
alive and disgracing herself; alive — yes, both she and her 
husband — to perplex the chevalier, and force him either to 
new crimes or to beggar his son! Why could not the one 
have really died on tlie St. Bartholomew, or the other at 
La Sablerie, instead of putting the poor chevalier in the 
wrong by coming to life again? 

What had he done to be thus forced to peril his soul at 
his age? Ah, had he but known what he should bring on 
himself when he wrote the unlucky letter, pretending that 
the silly little child wished to dissolve the marriage! How 
should he have known that the lad would come meddling 
over? And then, when he had dexterously brought about 
that each should be offended with the other, and consent to 
the separation, why must royalty step in and throw them 
together again? Yes, and he surely had a right to feel ill- 
used, since it was in ignorance of the ratification of the 
marriage that he had arranged the frustration of the elope- 
ment, and that he had forced on the wedding with Narcisse, 
so as to drive Eustacie to flight from the convent — in igno- 
rance again of her living that he had imprisoned Bereuger, 
and tried to buy off his claims to Nid-de-Merle with Diane '’s 
hand. Circumstances had used him cruelly, and he shrunk ^ 
from fairly contemplating the next Step. 

He knew well enough what it must bd. Without loss of 
time a letter must be sent to Rome, backechby strong in- 
terest, so as to make it appear that the ^I’emony at Mont- 
pipeau, irregular, and between a Hugufefiot and Catholic, 
had been a defiance of the Papal decree, and must therefore 
be nullified. This would probably be attainable, though 
he did not feel absolutely secure of it. Pending this, 
Eustacie must be secluded in a convent; and, while still 
believing herself a widow, must, immediately on the arrival 
of the decree and dispensalion^ be forced into the marriage 


100 


THE CHAl’JJiT OF FEAllLS. 


witli Narcisse before she heard of Berenger^s being still 
alive. And then Berenger would have no longer any ex- 
cuse for holding out. His claims would be disposed of;, 
and he might be either sent to England, or he might be 
won upon by Mme. de Selinville^s constancy. 

And this, as the chevalier believed, was the only chance 
of saving a life that he was unwilling to sacrifice, for his 
captive^ s patience and courtesy had gained so much upon 
his heart that he was resolved to do all that shuffling and 
temporizing could do to save the lad from Narcisse^s hatred 
and to secure him Diane’s love. 

As to telling the truth and arranging his escape, that 
scarcely ever crossed the ‘old man’s mind. It would have 
been to resign the lands of Nid-de^Merle, to return to the 
makeshift life he knew but too well, and, what was worse, 
to ruin and degrade his son, and incur his resentment. It 
would probably be easy to obtain a j^romise from Berenger, 
in his first joy and gratitude, of yielding up all pretensions 
of his own or his wife’s; but, however honorably meant, 
such a promise would be worth very little, and would be 
utterly scorned by Narcisse. Besides, how could he thwart 
the love of his daughter and the ambition of his son both at 
once? 

No; the only security for the possession of Nid-de-Merle 
lay in either the death of the young baron and his child, 
or else in his acquiescence in the invalidity of his marriage, 
and therefore in the illegitimacy of the child. 

And it was within the bounds of possibility that, in his 
seclusion, he might at length learn to believe in the story 
of the destruction of La Sablerie, and, wearying of captivity, 
might yield at length to the persuasions of Diane and her 
father, and become so far involved with them as to be un- 
able to draw back, or else be so stung by Eustacie’s deser- 
tion as to accept her rival wilHngly. “ 

It was a forlorn hope, but it was the only medium that 
lay between either the death or the release of the captive; 
and therefore the old man clung to it as almost praise- 
worthy, ail'd did his best to bring it about by keeping his 
daughter ignorant that Eustacie lived, and writing to his 
son that the baron was on the point of becoming a Catholic 
and marrying his sister: and thus that all family danger 
and scandal would be avoided, provided the matter were 
properly represented at Rome. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


101 


CHAPTEK XXXIL 

^^JAM SATIS/^ 

You may go walk, and give me leave awhile, 

My lessons make no music in three parts. 

Taming of tJie Shrew. 

Whethek the dark pool really showed Sir Marmacliike 
Tliistiewood or not, at the moment that his son desired that 
his image should be called up; the good knight was, in 
effect, sitting nodding over the tankard of sack with which 
his supper was always concluded, while the rest of the 
family, lured out of the sunny hall by the charms of a fresh 
summer evening, had dispersed into the gardens or hall. 

Presently a movement in the neighborhood made him 
think it incumbent on him to open his eyes wide, and ex- 
claim, ‘‘ I^m not asleep.-’^ 

‘‘ Oh no! you never are asleep when there^s anything you 
ought to see!^^ returned Dame Annora, who was standing 
by him with her hand on his chair. 

“ How now? Any tidings of the lads?'*^ he exclaimed. 

“ Of the lads? No, indeed; but there will be bad tidings 
for the lads if you do not see to it! Where do you think 
your daughter is, Sir Duke?^"’ 

“ Where? How should I know? She went out to give 
her sisters some strawberries, I thought. 

‘ ‘ See here, said Lady Thistle wood, leading the way to 
the north end of the hall, where a door opened into what 
was called the Yew-tree Grove. This consisted of five rows 
of yew-trees, planted at regular intervals, and their natural 
mode of growth so interfered with by constant cutting, 
that their ruddy trunks had been obliged to rise branchless, 
till about twelve feet above ground they had been allowed 
to spread out their limbs in the form of ordinary forest- 
trees; and, altogether, their foliage became a thick, un- 
broken, dark, evergreen roof, impervious to sunshine,^ and 
almost impervious to rain, while below their trunks were 
like columns forming five arcades, floored only by that 
dark red crusty earth and green hchen growth that seems 
peculiar to the shelter of yew-trees. The depth of the 
shade and the stillness of the place made it something 


102 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


peculiarly soo tiling and quiet, more especially when, as now, 
the sunset light came below the branches, richly tinted the 
russet pillars, cast long shadows, and gleamed into all the 
recesses of the interlacing boughs and polished leafage 
above. 

“ Do you see. Sir Duke?^^ demanded his lady. 

“I see my little maids making a rare feast under the 
trees upon their strawberries set out on leaves. Bless their 
little hearts! what a pretty fairy feast they^’ve made of it, 
with the dogs looking on as grave as judges! It makes me 
young again to get a smack of the hautbois your mother 
brought from Chelsea Gardens. 

“ Hautbois! He’d never see if the house were afire 
overhead. What’s that beyond?” 

“ No fire, my dear, but the sky all aglow with sunset, 
and the red cow standing up against the light, chewing her 
cud, and looking as well pleased as though she knew there 
wasn’t her match in Dorset.” 

Lady Thistlewood fairly stamped, and pointed with her 
fan, like a pistol, down a side aisle of the grove, where two 
figures were slowly moving along. 

‘‘Eh! what? Lucy with her apron full of rose-leaves, 
letting them float away while she cons the children’s lesson 
for the morrow with Merry court? They be no great loss, 
when the place is full of roses. Or why could you not call 
to the wench to take better heed to them, instead of mak- 
ing all this pother?” 

“ A pretty sort of lesson it is like to be! A pretty sort 
of return for my poor son, unless you take the better 
heed!” 

“ Would that I saw any return at all for either of the 
poor dear lads,” sighed the knight wearily; “but what 
you may be driving at I can not perceive.” 

“ What! When ’tis before your very eyes, how yonder 
smooth-tongued French impostor, after luring him back to 
his ruin beyond seas, is supplanting him even here, and 
your daughter giving herself over to the wily viper!” 

“ The man is a Popish priest,” said Sir Marmaduke; 
“ no more given to love than Mr. Adderley or Friar 
Kogers. ’ ’ 

The dame gave a snort of derision: “ Prithee, how many 
Popish priests be now wedded parsons? Nor, indeed, even 
if his story be true, do I believe he is a priest at all. I 


THE CHAPLET OP PEARLS. 


103 


have seen many a young ahbe, as they call themselves, clerk 
only in name, loitering at court, free to throw oft the cas- 
sock any moment they chose, and as insolent as the rest. 
Why, the Abbe de Lorraine, cardinal that is now, said of 
my complexion — ^ ^ 

“No vows, quotha!^^ muttered Sir Marmaduke, well 
aware of the Cardinal de Lorraine^s opinion of his lady^s 
complexion. “ So much the better; he is too good a young 
fellow to be forced to mope single, and yet I hate menu’s 
breaking their word.^^ 

“ And thak's all you have to say!^^ angrily cried her lady- 
ship. “ No one save myself ever thinks how it is to be with 
my poor dear wounded, heart-broken son, when he comes 
home, to find himself so scurvily used by that faithless girl 
of yours, ready — ^ ^ 

“ Hold, madame,^^ said Sir Marmaduke, with real stern- 
ness; “ nothing rash against my daughter. How should she 
be faithless to a man who had been wedded ever since she 
knew him?"’ 

“ He is free now,” said Lady Thistle wood, beginning to 
cry (for the last letters received from Berenger had been 
those from Paris, while he still believed Eustacie to have 
perished at La Sablerie); “ and I do say it is very hard that 
just when he is rid of the French baggage, the bane of his 
life, and is coming home, may be with a child upon his 
hands, and all wounded, scarred, and blurred, the only 
wench he would or should have married should throw her- 
self away on a French vagabond beggar, and you aiding 
and abetting. 

“ Come, come. Dame Nan,” said Sir Marmaduke, “ who 
told you I was aiding and abetting?” 

“ Tell me not. Sir Duke, you that see them a courting 
under your very eyes, and will not stir a finger to hinder 
it. If you like to see your daughter take up with a foreign 
adventurer, why, she’s no child of mine, thank Heaven! 
and I’ve naught to do with it.” 

“ Pshaw, dame, there’s no taking up in the case; and if 
there were, sure it is not you that should be hard on Lucy.” 

Whereupon Annora fell into such a fiood of tears at the 
cruelty of casting such things up to her, that Sir Marma- 
duke was fain in his blundering way to declare that he only 
meant that an honest Englishman had no chance where a 
Frenchman once came in, and then very nearly to sur- 


104 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


render at discretion. At any rate, he escaped from her 
tears by going out at the door, and calling to Lucy to mind 
her rose-leaves; then, as she ga^.ed round, dismayed at the 
pink track along the ground, he asked her what she had 
been doing. Whereto she answered with bright face and 
honest eyes, that Mr. Mericour had been going over with 
her the ode “ Jani satis,^"* of Horatius, wherewith to pre- 
pare little Nan for him to-morrow, and then she ran hur- 
riedly away to secure the remainder of the rose-leaves, while 
iier companion was already on his knees picking up the 
petals she had dropped. 

“ Master Merrycourt,^^ said Sir Marmaduke, a little 
gruffly, “ never heed the flower -leaves. I want a word 
with you. 

Claude de Mericour rose hastily, as if somewhat struck 
by the tone. 

“ The matter is this,^^ said the knight, leading him from 
the house, and signing back the little girls who had sprung 
toward them — “ it has been brought to mind that you are 
but a youth, and, pardon me, my young master, but when 
lads and lasses have their heads together over one book, 
tongues wag.'’’ 

The color rushed hotly into young Mericour’s face, and 
he answered quickly, “ My rank — I mean my order — 
should answer that.” 

“ Stay, young man, we are not in France; your order, be 
it what it may, has not hindered many a marriage in Eng- 
land; though, look you, no man should ever Aved with my 
consent who broke his word to God in so doing; but they 
tell me your vows are not always made at your age. ” 

“Nor are they,” exclaimed Mericour, in a low voice, 
but with a sudden light on his countenance. “ flflie ton- 
sure was given me as a child, and no vow of celibacy has 
passed my li 2 :)s. ” 

Sir Marmaduke exclaimed, “ Oh! — ” with a prolongation 
"of the sound that lasted till Mericour began again. 

“ But, sir, let tongues wag as they will, it is for naught. 
Your fair daughter was but as ever preparing beforehand 
with me the tasks with which she so kindly indoctrinates 
her little sisters. I never thought of myself as aught but 
a religious, and should never dream of human love.’’ 

“ 1 thought so! I said so!” said Sir Marmaduke, highly 
gratified. “ I knew you were an honorable man that would 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


105 


never speak of love to my daughter by stealth, nor without 
means to maintain her 'after her birth.'’'’ 

The word “ birth brought the blood into the face of 
the son of the peer of France, but he merely bowed with 
considerable stifiiiess and pride, saying, “You did nm 
justice, sir.'’'’ 

“ Come, donT be hurt, man,^^ said Sir Marmaduke, 
putting his hand on his shoulder. “ I told you I knew you 
for an honorable man! You'’ll be over here to-morrow to 
hear the little maids their Vam satis,'’ or whatever you 
call it, and dine with us, after to taste Lucy^s handiwork in 
jam cranberry, a better thing as I take it. 

Mericour had recovered himself, smiled, shook the good 
Sir Marmaduke'’s proffered hand, and, begging to excuse 
himself from bidding good-night to the ladies on the score 
of lateness, he walked away to cross the downs on his re- 
turn to Combe Walwyn, where he was still resident, accord- 
ing to the arrangement by which he was there to await 
Berenger^s return, now deferred so much beyond all reason- 
able expectation. 

Sir Marmaduke, with a free heart, betook himself to the 
house, dreading to find that Lucv had fallen under the 
objurgations of her step-mother, but feeling impelled to 
stand' her protector, and guided to the Spot by the high 
key of Dame Annora^s voice. 

He found Lucy — who, on the rare occasions when good- 
natured Lady Thistlewood was really angry with her, usu- 
ally cowered meekly — now standing her ground, and while 
the dame was pausing for breath, he heard her gentle voice 
answering steadily, “ No, madame, to him I could never 
owe faith, nor troth, nor love, save such as I have for 
Philip. 

“ Then it is very unfeeling and ungrateful of you. Nor 
did you think so once, but it is all his scars and—^'’ 

By this time Sir Marmaduke had come near enough to 
put his arm round his daugliter, and say, “ No such thing, 
Dame. It had been unseemly in the lass had it been other- 
wise. She is a good girl and a discreet; and the French- 
man, if he has made none of their vows, feels as bound as 
though he had. He"s an honest fellow, thinking of his 
studies, and not of ladies or any such trumpery. So give 
me a kiss, Lucy girl, and thou shalt study ‘ Jam satis,' or 
any other jam he pleases, without more to vex thee." 


106 


THE CHAELET OF FEARLS. 


Lucy, now that the warfare was over, had begun to weep 
so profusely that so soon as her father released her, she 
turned, made a mute gesture to ask permission to depart, 
and hurried away; while Lady Thistle wood, who disliked 
above all that her husband should think her harsh to her 
step-children, began to relate the exceeding tenderness of 
the remonstrance which had been followed with such dis- 
proportionate floods of tears. 

Poor Sir Marmaduke hoped at least that the veil of night 
had put an end to the subject wliich harassed him at a time 
when he felt less capable than usual of bearing vexation, 
for he was yearning sadly after his only son. The youths 
had been absent ten months, and had not been heard of 
for more than three, when they were just leaving Paris in 
search of the infant. Sir Francis Walsingham, whose em- 
bassy had ended with the death of Charles IX. , knew noth- 
ing of them, and great apprehensions respecting them were 
beguining to prevail, and, to Sir Marmaduke especially, 
seemed to be eating out the peace and joy of his life. 
Philip, always at his fathers side ever since he could run 
alone, was missed at every visit to stable or kennel; the ring 
of his cheery voice was wanting to the house; and the 
absence of his merry whistle seemed to make Sir Marma- 
duke '’s heart sink like lead as he donned his heavy boots, 
and went forth in the silver dew of the summer morning to 
judge which of his corn-flelds would soonest be ready for the 
sickle. Until this expedition of his sons he had, for more 
than fourteen years, never been alone in those morning 
rounds on his farm; and much as he loved his daughters, 
they seemed to weigh very light in the scale compared with 
the sturdy heir who loved every acre with his own ancestral 
love. Indeed, perhaps. Sir Marmaduke had a deeper, 
fonder atfection for the children of his first marriage, be- 
cause he had barely been able to give his full heart to their 
mother before she was taken from him, and he had felt 
almost double tenderness to be due to them, when he at 
length obtained his flrst and only true love. Now, as he 
looked over the shining billows of the waving barley, his 
heart was very sore with longing for Philipps gladsome shout 
at the harvest-field, and he thought with surprise and com- 
punction how he had seen Lucy leave him struggling with 
a flood of tears. While he was still thus gazing, a head 
appeared in the narrow path that led across the fields, and 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 107 

presently he recognized the slender, upright form of the 
young Frenchman. 

“ A fair good morrow to you. Master Merrycourt! You 
come right early to look after your ode?^^ 

“ Sir,"^ said Mericour, gravely saluting him, “ I come to 
make you my confession. I find that I did not deal truly 
with you last night, but it was all unwittingly.^^ 

“ How?” exclaimed Sir Marmaduke, recollecting Lucy^s 
tears and looking m.uch startled. ‘‘ You have not — ” and 
there he broke off, seeing Mericour eager to speak. 

“ Sir,^" he said, “ I was bred as one set apart from love. 
I had never learned to think it possible to me — I thought 
so even when I replied to you last evening; but, sir, the 
words you then spoke, the question you asked me set my 
heart burning, and my senses whirling — And between 
agitation and confusion he stammered and clasped his hands 
passionately, trying to continue what he was saying, but 
muttering nothing intelligible. 

Sir Marmaduke filled up the interval with a long whistle 
of perplexity; but, too kind not to pity the youth^s distress, 
he laid his hand on his shoulder, saying, ‘‘ You found out 
you were but a hot-headed youth after all, but an honest 
one. For, as I well trust, my lass knows naught of this.^^ 
“ How should she know, sir, what I knew not myself?’^ 

“ Ha! ha!^^ chuckled Sir Duke to himself, “ so ’twas all 
Dame Han^s doing that the flame has been lighted! Ho! 
ho! But what is to come next is the question?” and he 
eyed the French youth from head to foot with the same 
considering look with which he was wont to study a bul- 
lock. 

“ Sir, sir,^^ cried Mericour, absolutely flinging himself 
on his knee before him with national vehemence, do give 
me hope! Oh! I will bless you, I will — 

Get up, man,^^ said the knight, hastily; “ no fooling 
of this sort. The milkmaids will be coming. Hope — why, 
what sort of hope can be given you in the matter?” he con- 
tinued; “you are a very good lad, and I like you well 
enough, but you are not the sort of stuff one gives one’s 
daughter to. Ay, ay, I know you are a great man in your 
own country, but what are you here?” 

“ A miserable fugitive and beggar, I know that,” said 
Mericour, vehemently, “ but let me have but hope, and 
there is notliing I will not be!” 


108 


THE CHAPLET OE PEARLS. 


“ Pisli!^^ said Sir Marmaduke. 

‘‘Hear me/^ entreated the youth, recalled to common 
sense: “ you know that I have lingered at the chateau 
yonder, partly to study divinity and settle my mind, and 
partly because my friend liibaumont begged me to await 
his return. I will be no longer idle; my mind is fixed. 
To France I can not return, while she gives me no choice 
between such doctrine and practice as I saw' at court, and 
such as the Huguenots would have imposed on me. I had 
already chosen England as my country before— before this 
wild hope had awakened in me. Here, I know my nobility 
counts for nothing, though, truly, sir, few names in France 
are prouder. But it shall be no hinderance. I will become 
one of your men of the robe. I have heard that they can 
enrich themselves and intermarry with your country 
noblesse.’^ 

“ True, true,^^ said Sir Marmaduke, “ there is more 
sense in that notion than there seemed to be in you at first. 
My poor brother Phil was to have been a lawyer if he had 
lived, but it seems to me you are a long way off from that 
yet! Why, our Templars be mostly Oxford scholars.''^ 

“ So it was explained to me,^^ said Mericour, “ but for 
some weeks past the Lady Burnet, to whose sons, as you 
know, I have been teaching French, has been praying me 
.to take chargO of them at Oxford, by which means I should 
at least be there maintained, and perchance obtain the 
means for carrying on my studies at the Temple.’’ 

“ Not ill thought of,” said the knight; “a fair course 
enough for you; but look you, you must have good luck 
indeed to be in a state to marry within ten or fifteen years 
— very likely not then — ^liaving nothing of your own, and 
my wench but little, for Lucy’s portion can not be made 
equal to her sisters’, her mother having been no heiress like 
Hame Nan. And would you have me keep the maid un- 
wedded till she be thirty or thirty-five years old, waiting 
for your fortune?’ ’ 

Mericour looked terribly disconcerted at this. 

“ Moreover,” added the knight, “ they will all be at me, 
so soon as those poor lads come home — Heaven grant they 
do — to give her to Berenger. ’ ’ 

“ Sir,” said Mericour, looking up with a sudden smile, 
“ all that I would ask is, what you are too good a father to 
do, that you would not put any force on her mclinations. ” 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


109 


“ How now? you said you had never courted her!^^ 
‘‘Nor have sir. But I see the force of your words. 
Should she love another man, my dreams were, of course, 
utterly vain; but if not — He broke off. 

‘‘ Well, well, I am no man to force a girl to match 
against her will; but never trust to that, man. I know 
what women are; and let a fantastic stranger come across 
them, there ^s an end of old friends. But yours is an honest 
13urpose, and you are a good youth; and if you had any- 
thing to keep her with, you should have Lucy to-morrow, 
with all my heart. 

Then came the further question whether Mericour should 
be allowed an interview with Lucy. Sir Marmaduke was 
simple enough to fancy that she need not be made aware of 
the cause of Mericour^s new arrangement, and decided 
against it. The young man sorrowfully acquiesced, but 
whether such a secret could be kept was another thing. To 
him it would have been impossible to renew their former 
terms of intercourse without betraying his feelings, and he 
therefore absented himself. Lady Thistlewood triumphed, 
openly in Sir Marmaduke 's having found him out and 
banished him from the house; Lucy looked white and shed 
silent tears. Her father soft heart was moved, and one 
Sunday evening he whispered into her ear that Dame Nan 
was all wrong, and Mericour only kept away because he was 
an honorable man. Then Lucy smiled and brightened, and 
Sir Duke fondly asked her if she were fool enough to fancy 
herself in love with the man. 

‘‘ Oh, no, how should she, when he had never named love 
to her? She was only glad her father esteemed him.^^ 

So then foolish, fond Sir Marmaduke told her all that 
had passed, and if it had not been too late,, he would have 
sent for Mericour from Lady Burnetts; but his own story 
did almost as well in bringing back Lucy^s soft pink color. 
She crept up into Cecily’s room one day, and found that 
she knew all about it, and was as kind and sympathizing as 
she could be — when a vocation had been given up, though 
no vows had been taken. She did not quite understand it, 
but she would take it on trust. 


no 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


CHAPTEK XXXIIL 

THE SCANDAL OF THE STNOD OF MONTAUBAN. 

O ye, wiia are sae guid yoursel, 
oae pious and sae holy, 

Ye’ve naught to do but mark and tell 
Your neebur’s fauts and folly. 

Burns. 

The old city of Montauban, once famous as the home of 
Ariosto^ s Pin aid o and his brethren, known to French ro- 
mance as “ Les Quatre Fils Aymon/^ acquired in la ter 
times a very diverse species of fame — that, namely, of be- 
ing one 'of the chief strongholds of the Eeformed. The 
Bishop Jean de Lettes, after leading a scandalous life, had 
professed a sort of Calvinism, had married, and retired to 
Geneva, and his successor had not found it possible to live 
at Montauban from the enmity of the inhabitants. Strong- 
ly situated, with a peculiar municipal constitution of its own, 
and used to Provengal independence both of thought and 
deed, the inhabitants had been so unanimous in their Cal- 
vinism, and had offered such efficient resistance, as to have 
wrung from government reluctant sanction for the open 
observance of the Eeformed worship, and for the mainte- 
nance of a college for the education of their ministry. 

There then was convoked the National Synod, answer- 
ing to the Scottish General Assembly, excepting that the 
persecuted French Presbyterians met in a different place 
every year. Delegated pastors there gathered from every 
quarter. From Northern France came men used to live in 
constant hazard of their lives; from Paris, confessors such 
as Merlin, the chaplain who, leaving Coligny^s bedside, had 
been hidden for three days in a hay-loft, feeding on the 
eggs that a hen daily laid beside him; army-chaplains were 
there who had passionately led battle-psalms ere their col- 
leagues charged the foe, and had striven with vain endeav- 
ors to render their soldiers saints; while other pastors came 
from Pyrenean villages where their generation had never 
seen flames lighted against heresy, nor knew what it was 
to disperse a congregation in haste and secrecy for fear of 
the enemy. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


Ill 


The audience was large and sympathizing. Montauban 
had become the refuge of many Huguenot families who 
could nowhere else profess their faith without constant 
danger; and a large proportion of these were ladies, wives 
of gentlemen in the army kept up by La Noue; or widows 
who feared that their children might be taken from them 
to be brought up by their Catholic relations; elderly dames 
who longed for tranquillity after having lost husbands or 
sons by civil war. Thickly they lodged in the strangely 
named gasclies and vertiers, as the divisions and subdi- 
visions of the city were termed, occupying floors or apart- 
ment of the tall old houses; walking abroad in the streets 
in grave attire, stifl hat, crimped ruff, and huge fan, and 
forming a society in themselves, close-packed, punctilious 
and dignified, rigidly devout but strictly censorious, and 
altogether as unlike their typical country-folks of Paris as 
if they had belonged to a diferent nation. And the sourest 
and most severe of all were such as had lived farthest south, 
and personally suffered the least peril and alarm. 

Dancing was an unheard-of enormity; cards and dice 
were prohibited; any stronger expletive than the elegant 
ones invented for the special use of the King of Navarre 
v>^as expiated either by the purse or the skin; MaroPs 
psalmody was the only music, black or sad color the only 
wear; and, a few years later, the wife of one of the most 
distinguished statesmen and councilors of Henri of Na- 
varre was excommunicated for the enormity of wearing her 
hair curled. 

To such a community it was a delightful festival to re- 
ceive a national assembly of ministers ready to regale them 
on daily sermons for a whole month, and to retail in pri- 
vate the points of discipline debated in the public assem- 
bly; and, apart from mere eagerness for novelty, many a 
discreet heart beat with gladness at the meeting with the 
hunted pastor of her native home, who had been the first 
to strike the spiritual chord, and awake her mind to re- 
ligion. 

Every family had their honored guest, every reception- 
room was in turn the scene of some pious little assembly 
that drank eau sucree, and rejoiced in its favorite pastor; 
and each little congress indulged in gentle scandal against 
its rival coterie. But there was one point on which all the 
ladies agreed— namely, that good Maitre Isaac Garden had 


112 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


fallen into an almost doting state of blindness to the vani- 
ties of his danghter-in-law, and that she was a disgrace to 
the community, and ought to be publicly reprimanded. 

Isaac Garden, long reported to have been martyred — 
soRie said at Paris, others averred at La Sablerie — had in- 
deed been welcomed with enthusiastic joy and veneration, 
when he made his appearance at Moiitauban, pale, aged, 
bent, leaning on a stalf, and showing the dire elfect of the 
rheumatic fever which had prostrated him after the night 
of drenching and exposure during the escape from La Sa- 
blerie. Crowded as the city was, there was a perfect com- 
petition among the tradesfolk for the honor of entertain- 
ing him and the young widow and child of a St. Bartholo- 
mew martyr. A cordwainer of the street of the Soubirous 
Hants obtained this honor, and 'the wife, though sj^eaking 
only the sweet Proveiigal tongue, soon established the most 
friendly relations with M. Gardon^s daughter-in-law. 

Two or three more pastors likewise lodged in the same 
house, and ready aid was given by Mile. Garden, as all 
called Eustacie, in the domestic cares thus entailed, while 
her filial attention to her father-in-law and her sweet ten- 
derness to her cliild struck all this home circle with admira- 
tion. Children of that age were seldom seen at home 
among the better classes in towns. Then, as now, they 
were universally consigned, to country -nurses, who only 
brought them home at three or four years old, fresh from 
a squalid, neglected cottage life; and Eustacie’s little moon- 
beam, la petite Rayonette, as she loved to call her, was 
quite an unusual spectacle; and from having lived entirely 
with grown people, and enjoyed the most tender and dainty 
care she was intelligent and brightly docile to a degree that 
appeared marvelous to those who only saw children stupe- 
fied by a contrary system. She was a lovely little thing, 
exquisitely fair, and her plump white limbs small but per- 
fectly molded; she was always happy, because always 
healthy, and living in an atmosphere of love; and she was 
the pet and wonder of all the household, from the grinniug 
apprentice to the grave young candidate who hoped to be 
elected pastor to the Duke de Quinet’s village in the Ce- 
vennes. 

And yet it was la petite Rayonette who first brought her 
mother into trouble. Since her emancipation from swad- 
dling-clothes she had been equipped in a little gray woolen 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


113 


frock, such as Eustacie had learned to knit among the 
])easants, and varied with broad white stripes which gave it 
something of the moonbeam effect; but the mother had not 
been able to resist the pleasure of drawing iq) the bosom 
and tying it with a knot of the very carnation color that 
Berenger used to call her own. That knot was discussed all 
up and down the Rue Soubirous Ilauts, and even through- 
the Carriera Major! The widow of an old friend of Maitre 
(lardon had remonstrated on the impi-oprieties of such gay 
vanities, and Mile. Garden had actually rejdied, reddening 
with insolence, that her husband had loved to see her wear 
the color. 

Now, if the brethren at Paris had indulged their daugh- 
ters in such backslidings, see what had come of it! But 
that poor Theodore Garden should have admired his bride 
in such unhallowed adornments, was an evident calumny; 
and many a head was shaken over it in grave and pious as- 
sembly. 

Worse still; when she had been invited to a supper at 
the excellent Mme. Eargeau’s, the presumptuous little 
hourgeoise had evidently not known her place, but had seat- 
ed herself as if she were a noble lady, a iille de qualite, 
instead of a mere minister's widow and a watch-maker^s 
daughter. Pretend ignorance that precedence was to be 
here observed! That was another Parisian piece of impu- 
dence, above all in one who showed such ridiculous airs as 
to wipe her face with "lier own handkerchief instead of the 
table-cloth, and to be reluctant to help herself from the 
general dish of potage with her own spoon. Even that 
might have been overlooked if she would have regaled them 
with a full and particular account of her own rescue from 
the massacre at Paris; but she merely colored up, and said 
that she had been so ill as to know scarcely anything about 
it; and when they pressed her further, she shortly said, 

“ They locked me up;^^ and, before she could be cross-ex- 
amined as to who was this “ they, Maitre Garden inter- 
fered, saying that she had sulfered so much that he request- 
ed the subject might never be mentioned to her. Nor 
would he be more explicit, and there was evidently some 
mystery, and he was becoming blindly indulgent and be- 
sotted by the blandishments of an artful woman. 

Eustacie was saved from hearing the gossip by her ig- 
norance of the Provenqal, which was the only language of 


114 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


all but the highest and most cultivated classes. The host- 
ess had very little langue cV out, and never ventured on any 
complicated discourse; and Isaac Garden, who could speak 
both” the oc and otil, was not a person whom it was easy to 
beset with mere hearsay or petty remonstrance, but enough 
reached him at last to make him one day say mildly, My 
dear child, might not the little one dispense with her rib- 
bon while we are here?^^ 

Eh, father? At the bidding of those impertinents?" 

“ Take care, daughter; you were perfect with the trades- 
folk and peasants, but you can not comport yourself as suc- 
cessfully with petite noblesse or the pastors'’ wives. 

‘‘ They are insolent, father. I, in my own true person, 
would treat no one as these petty dames treat me,^"’ said 
Eustacie. I would not meddle between a peasant woman 
and her child, nor ask questions that must needs wring her 
heart. 

“Ah, child! humility is a bitter lesson; and even this 
world needs it now from you. We shall have suspicions; 
and I heard to-day that the king is in Dauphiny, and with 
him Monsieur de ISTid-de-Merle. Be not alarmed; he has 
no force with him, and the peace still subsists; but we 
must avoid suspicion. There is a preche at the Moustier 
to-day, in French; it would be well if you were to attend 
it.^^ 

“ I understand as little of French sermons as of Pro- 
vencal,'’^ murmured Eustacie; but it was only a murmur. 

Maitre Gardon had soon found out that his charge had 
not head enough to be made a thorough-going controversial 
Calvinist. Clever, intelligent, and full of resources as she 
was, she had no capacity for argument, and could not 
enter into theoretical religion: Circumstances had driven 
her from her original Church and alienated her from those 
who had practiced such personal cruelties on her and hers, 
but the mold of her mind remained what it had been pre- 
viously; she clung to the Huguenots because they protected 
her from those who would have forced an abhorrent mar- 
riage on her and snatched her child from her; and, per- 
sonally, she loved and venerated Isaac Gardon with ardent, 
self-sacrificing filial love and gratitude, accepted as truth 
all that came from his lips, read the Scriptures, sung and 
prayed with him, and obeyed him as dutifully as ever the 
true Esperance could have done; but, except the merest ex- 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


115 


ternal objections against the grossest and most palpable 
popular corruptions and fallacies, she really never entered 
into the matter. She had been left too ignorant of her 
own system tc perceive its true claims upon her; and though 
she could not help preferring High Mass to a Calvinist as- 
sembly, and shrinking with instinctive pain and horror at 
the many profanations she witnessed, the really spiritual 
leadings of her own individual father-like leader had opened 
so much that was new and precious to her, so full of truth, 
so full of comfort, giving so much moral strength, that, 
unaware that all the foundations had been laid by Mere 
Monique, the resolute, high-spirited little thing, out of 
sheer constancy and constitutional courage, would have laid 
down her life as a Calvinist martyr, in profound ignorance 
that she was not in the least a Calvinist all the time. 

Hitherto, her wandering life amid the persecuted Hugue- 
nots of the West had prevented her from hearing any preach- 
ing but good Isaac^s own, which had been rather in the way 
of comfort and encouragement than of controversy, but in 
this great gathering it was impossible that there should not 
be plenty of vehement polemical oratory, such as was sure 
to fly over that weary little head. After a specimen or 
two, the chances of the sermon being in Provenqal, and 
the necessity of attending to her child, had been Eustacie^s 
excuse for usually offering to attend to the menage, and set 
her hostess free to be present at the preachings. 

Hcwever, Kayonette was considered as no valid excuse; 
for did not whole circles of black-eyed children sit on the 
floor in sleepy stolidity at the feet of their mothers or 
nurses, and was it not a mere worldly folly to pretend that 
a child of sixteen months could not be brought to church? 
It was another instance of the mother's frivolity and the 
grandfather's idolatry. 

The Moustier, or minster, the monastic church of Mon- 
tauban, built on Mont Auriol in honor of St. Theodore, 
had, twelve years before, been plundered and sacked by 
the Calvinists, not only out of zeal for iconoclasm, but 
from long-standing hatred and jealousy against the monks. 
Catharine de Medicis had, in 1546, carried off two of the 
jasper columns from its chief door-way to the Louvre; and, 
after some years more, it was entirely destroyed. The 
grounds of the Auriol Mountain Monastery have been deso- 
late down to the present day, when they have been formed 


116 THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 

into public gardens. When Eustacie walked through them, 
carrying her little girl in her arms, a rose in her bosom to 
console her for the loss of her bright breastknot, they were 
in raw fresh dreariness, with tottering, blackened cloisters, 
garden flowers run wild, images that she had never ceased 
to regard as sacred lying broken and defiled among the 
grass and weeds. 

Up the broad path was j)acing the municipal procession, 
headed by the three consuls, each with a sergeant bearing a 
white rod in fiwnt and a scarlet mantle, and the consuls 
themselves in long robes with wide sleeves of quartered 
black and scarlet, followed by six halberdiers, likewise in 
scarlet, blazoned with the shield of the city— gules, a gold- 
en willow-tree, pollarded and shedding its branches, a chief 
azure with the three fleur-de-lis of royalty. As little liay- 
onette gleefully pointed at the brilliant pageant, Eustacie 
could not help saying, rather bitterly, that these messieurs 
seemed to wish to engross all the gay colors from heaven 
and earth for themselves; and Maitre Isaac could not help 
thinking she had some right on her side as he entered the 
church once gorgeous with jaspers, marbles, and mosaics, 
glowing with painted glass, resplendent with gold and jew- 
els, rich with paintings and draperies of the most brilliant 
dyes; but now, all that was not an essential part of the fab- 
ric utterly gone, and all that was, soiled, dulled, defaced; 
the whole building, even up to the end of the chancel, was 
closely fitted with benches occupied by the “ sad-colored 
congregation. Isaac was obliged by a strenuous effort of 
memory to recall ‘‘ Nehushtan and the golden calves, be- 
fore he could clear from his mind, “ Now they break down 
all the carved work thereof with axes and mth hammers. 
But, then, did not the thorough-going Eeformers think 
Master Isaac a very weak and backsliding brother? 

Nevertheless, in right of his age, his former reputation, 
and his sufferings, his place was full in th^ midst of the 
square-capped, black-robed ministers who sat herded on a 
sort of platform together, to address the Almighty and the 
congregation in prayers and discourses, interspersed with 
psalms sung by the whole assembly. There was no want 
of piety, depth, force, or fervor. These were men refined 
by persecution, who had struggled to the light that had 
been darkened by the popular system, and, having once 
been forced into foregoing their scruples as to breaking the 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


117 


unity of the Church, regarded themselves even as apostles 
of the truth. Listening to them, Isaac Garden felt him- 
self rapt into the hopes of cleansing the aspirations of uni- 
versal reintegration tliat had shone before his early youth, 
ere the Church had shown herself deaf, and the Reformers 
in losing patience had lost purity, and disappointment had 
crushed him into an aged man. 

He was recalled by the echo of a gay, little inarticulate 
cry — those baby tones that had become such music to his 
ears that he hardly realized that they were not indeed from 
his grandchild. In a moment^ s glance he saw how it was. 
A little bird had flown in at one of the empty windows, 
and was fluttering over the heads of the congregation, and 
a small, plump, white arm and hand was stretched out and 
pointing — a rosy, fair, smiling face upturned; a little gray 
figure had scrambled up on the knee of one of the still, 
black-hooded women; and the shout of irrepressible delight 
was breaking on the decorum of the congregation, in spite 
of hushes, in spite of the uplifted rod of a scarlet sergeant 
on his way down the aisle to quell the disturbance; nay, as 
the bird came nearer, the exulting voice, proud of the 
achievemeiit of a new word, shouted ‘ Moineau, momeau. ” 
Angered by defiance to authority, down came the rod, not 
indeed with great force, but with enough to make the arms- 
clasp round the mother^s neck, the face hide itself on it, a 
loud, terrified wail ring through the church, and tempest- 
uous sobbing follow it up. Then uprose the black-hooded 
figure, the child tightly clasped, and her mantle drawn 
round it, while the other hand motioned the official aside, 
and down the aisle, even to the door, she swept with the 
lofty carriage, high-drawn neck, and swelling bosom of an 
offended princess. 

Maitre Garden heard little more of the discourse; indeed 
he would have followed at once had he not feared to in- 
crease the sensation and the scandal. He came home to 
find Eayonette^s tears long ago dried, but her mother furi- 
ous. She would leave Montauban that minute, she would 
never set foot in a heretic conventicle again, to have her 
fatherless child, daughter of all the Eibaumonts, struck by 
base canaille. JEven her uncle could not have done worse; 
he at least would have respected her Elood. 

Maitre Garden did not know that his charge could be in 
such a passion, as, her eyes flashing through tears, she in- 


118 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


sisted on being taken away at once. No^ slie would hear 
nothing. She seemed to feel resentment due to the honor 
of all the Ribaumonts, and he was obliged peremptorily to 
refuse to quit Montauban till his business at the Synod 
should be completed, and then to leave her in a flood of 
angry tears and reproaches for exposing her child to such 
usage, and approving it. 

Poor little thing, he found her meek and penitent for her 
unjust anger toward himself. Whatever he desired she 
would do, she would stay or go with him anywhere except 
to a sermon at the Moustier, and she did not think that in 
her heart her good father desired little infants to be beaten 
— least of all, BerengePs little one. And with Payonette 
already on his knee, stealing his spectacles, peace was made. 
Peace with him, but not with the congregation! Were peo- 
ple to stalk out of church in a rage, and make no repara- 
tion? Was Maitre Isaac to talk of orphans, only children, 
and maternal love, as if weak human affection did not need 
chastisement? Was this saucy Parisienne to play the offend- 
ed, and say that if the child were not suffered at church she 
must stay at home with it? The ladies agitated to have the 
obnoxious young widow reprimanded in open Synod, but, 
to their still greater disgust, not a pastor would ‘consent to 
perform the office. Some said that Maitre Garden ought 
, to rule his own household, others that they respected him 
too much to interfere, and there were others abandoned 
enough to assert that if any one needed a rej^rimand it was 
the sergeant. 

Of these was the young candidate, Samuel Mace, who 
had been educated at the expense of the Dowager Duchess 
de Quinet, and hoped that her influence would obtain his 
election to the pastorate of a certain peaceful little village 
deep in the Oevennes. She had intimated that what he 
wanted was a wife to teach and improve the wives of the 
peasant farmers, and where could a more eligible one be 
found than Esperance Gardon? Her cookery he tasted, 
her industry he saw, her tenderness to her child, her atten- 
tion to her father, were his daily admiration; and her soft 
velvet eyes and sweet smile went so deep in his heart that 
he would have bought her ells upon ells of pink ribbon, 
when once out of siglft of the old ladies; would have given 
a father ^s love to her little daughter, and a son^s duty and 
veneration to Isaac Gardon. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


119 


His patroness did not deny tier approval. The gossij) 
had indeed reached her, but she had a high esteem for Isaac 
Gardon, believed in Samuel Mace^s good sense, and heeded 
Montauban scandal very little. Her protege would be much 
better married to a spirited woman who had seen the world 
than to a merefarmGr^s daughter who had never looked be- 
yond her cheese. Old Garden would be an admirable ad- 
viser, and if he were taken into the menage she would add 
to the endowment another arable field, and grass for two 
more cows. If she liked the young woman on inspection, 
the marriage should take place in her own august pres- 
ence. 

What! had Maitre Garden refused? Forbidden that the 
subject should be mentioned to his daughter? Impossible! 
Either Mace had managed matters foolishly, or the old 
man had some doubt of him which she could remove, or 
else it was foolish reluctance to part with his daughter-in- 
law. Or the gossips were right after. all, and he knew her 
to be too light-minded, if not worse, to be the wife of any 
pious young minister. Or there was some mystery. Any- 
way, Mme. la Duchesse would see him, and bring him to 
his senses, make him give the girl a good husband if she 
were worthy, or devote her to condign punishment if she 
were unworthy. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

MADAME LA DU CH ESSE. 

He found an ancient dame in dim brocade. 

Tennyson. 

Madame la Duchesse de Quihet had been a great 
liciress and a personal friend and favorite of Queen Jeanne 
d’ Albrct. She had been left a widow after five years' mar- 
riage, and for forty subsequent years had reigned despotic- 
ally in her own name and that of mon fils. Busied with 
the support of the Huguenot cause, sometimes by arms, 
but more usually by politics, and constantly occupied by 
the hereditary government of one of the lesser counties of 
France, the duke was all the better son for relinquishing to 
her the home administration, as well as the education of his 
two motherless boys; and their confidence and affection 
were perfect, though he was almost as seldom at home as 


120 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


she was abroad. At times, indeed, she hiid visited Queen 
Jeanne at Nerac; but since the good queen ^s death, she 
only left the great chateau of Quinet to make a royal prog- 
ress of ins23ection through the family towns, castles, and 
estates, sometimes to winter in her beautiful hereditary 
hotel at Montauban, and as at present,' to attend any great 
assembly ofJhe Reformed. 

Very seldom was her will not law. Strong sense and 
judgment, backed by the learning that Queen Marguerite 
of Navarre had introduced among the companions of her 
daughter, had rendered her superior to most of those with 
whom she came in contact: and the Huguenot ministers, 
who were much more dependent on their laity than the 
Catholic priesthood, for the most part treated her as not 
only a devout and honorable woman, an elect lady, but as 
a sort of State authority. That she had the right-minded- 
ness to respect and esteem such men as Theodore Beza, 
Merlin, etc., who treated her with great regard, but never 
cringed, had not become known to the rest. Let her have 
once pronounced against poor little Esperance Garden, and 
2 )ublic disgrace would be a matter of certainty. 

There she sat in her wainscoted walnut cabinet, a small 
woman by her inches, but stately enough to seem of majes- 
tic stature, and with gray eyes, of inexpressible keenness, 
which she fixed uj)on the halting, broken form of Isaac Gar- 
don, and his grave, venerable face, as she half rose and 
made a slight acknowledgment of his low bow. 

‘‘ Sit, Maitre Gardon, you are lame,^'’ she said, with a 
wave of her hand. ‘‘ I gave you the incommodity of com- 
ing to see me here, because I imagined that there were mat- 
ters you would not openly discuss en pleine salle. ” 

‘‘ Madame is considerate,'’’ said Isaac, civilly, but with 
an open-eyed look and air that at once showed her that she 
had not to deal with one of the ministers who never forgot 
their low birth in intercourse with her. 

“ I understand,” said she, coming to the point at once, 
“ that you decline the proposals of Samuel Mace for your 
daughter-in-law. Now I wish you to know that Mace is a 
very good youth, whom I have known from his birth ” — 
and she went on in his praise, Isaac bowing at each pause, 
until she had exhausted both Mace’s history and her own 
beneficent intentions for him. Then he said, ‘‘ Madame is 
very good, and the young man appeared to me excellent. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


131 


Nevertheless, this thing may not he. My daughter-in-law 
has resolved not to marry again. 

Nay, but this is mere folly, said the duchess. We 
hold not Catholic tenets on merit in abstaining, but rather 
go by St. PauFs advice that the younger widows should 
marry, rather than wax wanton. And, to tell you the 
truth, Maitre Garden, this daughter of yours does seem to 
have set tongues in motion.'’^ 

“Not by her own fault, madame.^^ 

“ Stay, my good friend; I never found a man — minister 
or lay — who was a fair judge in these matters. You old 
men are no better than the young — rather worse — because 
you do not distrust yourselves. Now, I say no harm of the 
young woman, and I know an angel would be abused at 
Montauban for not wearing sad-colored wings; but she 
needs a niaiFs care — you are frail, you can not live forever 
— and how is it to be with her and her child? 

“ I hope to. hestow them among her kindred ere I die, 
madame,^^ said Isaac. 

“ No kindred can serve a woman like a'sensible husband! 
Besides, I thought all perished at Paris. Listen, Isaac Gar- 
don : I tell you plainly that scandal is afloat. . You are 
blamed for culpable indifference to alleged levities — I say 
not that it is true — but I see this, that unless you can be- 
stow your daughter-in-law on a good, honest man, able to 
silence the whispers of malice, there will be measures taken 
that will do shame both to your own gray hairs and to the 
memory of your dead son, as well as expose the poor young 
woman herself. You are one who has a true tongue, Isaac 
Garden; and if you can assure me that she is a faithful, good 
woman, as poor Mace thinks her, and will give her to him 
in testimony thereof, then shall not a mouSi open against 
her. If not, in spite of all my esteem for you, the disci- 
pline of the Reformed must take its course. 

“ And for what?^^ said Isaac, with a grave tone, almost 
of reproof. “ What discipline can punish a woman for let- 
ting her infant wear a colored ribbon, and shielding it from 
a blow?'^ 

“ That is not all. Master Isaac,^^ said the duchess, 
seriously. “ In spite of your much-respected name, evil 
and censorious tongues will have it that matters ought to 
be investigated; that there is some mystery; that the young 
woman does not give a satisfactory account of herself, and 


122 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


that the child does not resemble either her or your son — in 
short, that you may be deceived by an impostor, perhaps a 
Catholic spy. Mind, I say not that I credit all this, only I 
would show you what reports you must guard against.'’^ 

“ La pauvre petite !” said Isaac, under his breath, as if 
appalled; then collecting himself, he said, “ Madame, these 
are well-nigh threats. I had come hither nearly resolved 
to confide in you without them. 

‘‘ Then there is a mystery? 

“ Yes, madame, but the deception is solely in the name. 
Slie is, in very truth, a widow of a martyr of the St. Bar- 
thelemy, but that martyr was not my son, whose wife was 
happy in dying with liirn. ” 

“ And who, then, is she?^^ 

“ Madame la Duchesse has heard of the family of Ribau- 
mont. 

“ Ha! Monsieur de Eibaumont! A gay comrade of King 
Henry II. , but who had his eyes opened to the truth by 
Monsieur l^Amiral, though he lacked courage for an ojDen 
profession. Yes, the very last pageant I beheld at court, 
was the wedding of his little son to the Count de Ribau- 
mont^s daughter. It was said that the youth was one of 
our victims at Paris. 

“ Even so, madame; and this poor child is the little one 
whom you saw wedded to him.^^ And then, in answer to 
the duchess’s astonished inquiry, he proceeded to relate 
how Eustacie had been forced to fly from her kindred, and 
how he had first encountered her at his own lurking-place, 
and had accepted her as a charge imposed on him by Provi- 
dence; then explained how, at La Sablerie, she had been 
recognized by a young gentleman whom she had known at 
Paris, but who jjrofessed to be fleeing to England, there to 
study the Protestant controversy; and how she had con- 
fided to him a letter to her husband’s mother, who was mar- 
ried in England, begging her to send for her and her 
daughter, the latter being heiress to certain English estates, 
as well as French. 

“ Madame,” added Garden, “ Heaven forgive me, if I 
do the youth injustice by suspecting him, but no answer 
ever arrived to that letter; and while we still expected one, 
a good and kindly citizen, who I trust has long been re- 
ceived into glory, sent me a notice that a detachment of 
Monsieur’s army was on its way from La Rochelle, under 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


123 


command of Monsieur de Nid-de-Merle, to search out this 
poor lady in La Sablerie. He, good man, deemed that, 
were we gone, he could make terms for the place, and we 
therefore quitted it. Alas! madame knows how it fared 
with the pious friends we left. Little deeming how they 
would be dealt with, we took our way along the Sables 
d^’Olonne, where alone we could be safe, since, as madame 
knows, they are for miles impracticable for troops. But 
we had another enemy there — the tide; and there was a 
time when we truly deemed that the mercy granted us had 
been that we had fallen into the hand of the Lord instead 
of the hand of cruel man. Yes, madame, and even for 
that did she give thanks, as she stood, never even trem- 
bling, on the low sand-bank, with her babe in her bosom, 
and the sea creeping up on all sides. She only turned to 
me with a smile, saying, ‘ She is asleep, she will not feel 
it, or know anything till she wakes up in Paradise, and 
sees her father. Never saw I a woman, either through 
nature or grace, so devoid of fear. We were rescued at 
last, by the mercy of Heaven, which sent a fisherman, who 
bore us to his boat when benumbed with cold, and scarce 
able to move. He took us to a good priest’s, Oolombeau 
of Nissard, a man who, as madame may know, is one of 
those veritable saints who still are sustained by the truth 
within their Church, and is full of charity and mercy. He 
asked me no questions, but fed, warmed, sheltered us, and 
sped us on our way. Perhaps, however, I was overconfi- 
dent in myself, as the guardian of the poor child, for it was 
Heaven’s will that the cold and wet of our night on the 
sands — though those tender young frames did not suffer 
therefrom — should bring on an illness which has made an 
old man of me. I struggled on as long as I could, hoping 
to attain to a safe resting-place for her, but the winter cold 
completed the work; and then, madame — oh that I could 
tell you the blessing she was to me! — her patience, her 
watchfulness, her tenderness, through all the long weeks 
that I lay helpless alike in mind and body at Charente. 
Ah! madame, had my own daughter lived, she could not 
have been more to me than that noble lady; and her cheer- 
ful love did even more for me than her tender care.” 

“ I must see her,” ejaculated the duchess; then added, 
“But was it this illness that hindered you from placing her 
in safety in England.^” 


124 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


“ In part, madame; nay, I may say, wliolly. We 
learned tliat the assembly was to take place here, and I 
had my poor testimony to deliver, and to give notice of my 
intention to my brethren before going to a foreign land, 
whence perhaps I may never return/^ 

‘‘ She ought to be in England,^'’ said Mme. de Quine t; 
“ she will never be safe from these kinsmen in this coun- 
try. 

“ Monsieur de Eid-de-Merle has been all the spring in 
Poland with the king,^^ said the minister, ‘^and the poor 
lady is thought to have perished at La Sablerie. Thus the 
danger has been less pressing, but I would have taken her 
to England at once, if I could have made sure of her recep- 
tion, and besides — he faltered. 

“ The means? demanded the duchess, guessing at the 
meaning. 

“ Madame is right. She had brought away some money 
and jewels with her, but alas, madame, during my illness, 
without my knowledge, the dear child absolutely sold them 
to procure comforts for me. Nay — his eyes filled with 
tears — ‘‘ she whom they blame for vanities, sold the very 
hair from her head to purchase unguents to ease the old 
man’s pains; nor did I know it for many a day after. 
From day to day we can live, for our own people willingly 
support a pastor and his family; and in every house my 
daughter has been loved — everywhere but in this harsh- 
judging town. But for the expense of a voyage, even were 
we at Bordeaux or La Rochelle, we have not hin g, save by 
I)arting with the only jewels that remain to her, and those 
— those, she says, are heir-looms; and, poor child, she 
guards them almost as jealously as her infant, around 
whom she has fastened them beneath her clothes. She 
will not even as yet hear of leaving them in pledge, to be 
redeemed by the family. She says they would hardly know 
her without them. And truly, madame, I scarce venture 
to take her to England, ere I know what reception would 
await her. Should her husband’s family disown or cast her 
off, 1 could take better care of her here than in a straiwe 
land.” 

“You are right, Maitre Garden,” said the duchess; 
“ the risk might be great. I would see this lady. She 
must be a rare creature. Bear her my greetings, my 
friend, and pray her to do me the honor of a visit this after- 


THE CHAPLET OE PEARLS. 125 

noon. Tell her I would come myself to her, but that I 
understand she does not wish to attract notice. 

‘‘ Madame, said Isaac, rising, and with a strange man- 
ner, between a smile and a tear of earnestness, “ allow me 
to bespeak your goodness for my daughter. The poor lit- 
tle thing is scarcely more than a child. She is but eighteen 
even now, and it is not always easy to tell whether she will 
he an angel of noble goodness, or, pardon me, a half-petu- 
lant child. 

“I understand.’’^ Mme. de Quinet laughed, and she 
probably did understand more than reluctant, anxious Isaac 
Garden thought she did, of his winning, gracious, yet 
haughty, headstrong, little charge, so humbly helpful one 
moment, so self-asserting and childish the next, so dear to 
him, yet so unlike anything in his experience. 

Child, he said, as he found her in the sunny window 
engaged in plaiting the deep folds of his starched rulfs, 
you have something to forgive me.’’ 

“ Fathers do not ask their children’s pardon,” said Eus- 
tacie, brightly, but then, with sudden dismay, “Ah! you 
have not said I should go to that Moustier again.” 

“ No, daughter; but Madame de Quinet entreats — tliese 
are her words — that you will do her the honor of calling on 
her. She would come to you, but that she fears to attract 
notice to us. ” 

“ You have told her!” exclaimed Eustacie. 

“ I was compelled, but I had already thought of asking 
your consent, and she is a true and generous lady, witli 
whom your secret will be safe, and who can hush the idle 
tongues here. So, daughter,” he added restlessly, “don 
your hood; that ruff will serve for another day.” 

“Another day, when the morrow is Sunday, and my 
father’s ruff is to put to shame all the other pastors’,” said 
Eustacie, her quick fingers still moving. “ No, he shall 
not go ill-starched for any duchess in France. ^ Nor am I 
in any liJiste to' be lectured by Madanle de Quinet, as they 
say she lectured the Dame de Soubrera the other day. ” 

“ My child, you will go; much depends on it. ” 

“ Oh, yes, I am going; only if Madame de Quinet knows 
who I am, she will not expect me to hurry at her beck and 
call the first moment. Here, Kayonette, my bird, 'my 
beauty, thou must have a clean cap; ay, and these flaxen 
curls combed. ” 


126 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


“ Would you take the child 

“ Would I go without Mademoiselle de Eibaumont? She 
is all her mother is, and more. There, now she is a true 
rosebud, ready to perch on my arm. No, no. Ion 2)ere. 
So great a girl is too much for you to carry. DonT be 
afraid, my darling, we are not going to a sermon, no one 
will beat her; oh no, and if the insolent retainers and pert 
lackeys laugh at her mother, no one will hurt her. 

‘‘ Nay, child, said Maitre Garden; this is a well- 
ordered household, where contempt and scorn are not suf- 
fered. Only, dear, dear daughter, let me pray you to be 
your true self with the duchess.'’^ 

Eustacie shrugged her shoulders, and had mischief enough 
in her to enjoy keeping her good father in some doubt and 
dread as he went halting wearily by her side along the 
much -decorated streets that marked the grand Gasche of 
Tarn and Tarascon. The Hotel de Quinet stretched out 
its broad stone steps, covered with vaultings, absolutely 
across the street, affording a welcome shade, and no ob- 
struction where wheeled carriages never came. 

All was, as Maitre Isaac had said, decorum itself. A 
couple of armed retainers, rigid as sentinels, waited on the 
ste2)s; a grave porter, maimed in the wars, opened the 
great door; half a dozen laqiiais in sober though rich 
liveries sat on a bench in the hall, and had somewhat the 
air of having been set to con a lesson. Two of them, com- 
ing respectfully forward, ushered Maitre Garden and his 
companion to an anteroom, where various gentlemen, or 
pastors, or candidates — among them Samuel Mace — were 
awaiting a summons to the duchess, or merely using it as a 
place of assembly. A page of high birth, but well schooled 
iu steadiness of demeanor, went at once to announce the 
arrival ; and Garden and his companion had not been many 
moments in conversation with their acquaintance among 
the ministers, before a grave gentleman returned, appar- 
ently from his audience, and the page, coming to Eustacie, 
intimated that she was to follow him to Mme. la Duchesse^’s 
presence. 

He conducted her across a great tapestry-hung saloon, 
where twelve or fourteen ladies of all ages — from seventy 
to fifteen — sat at work: some at tapestry, some spinning, 
some making coarse garments for the' poor. A great 
throne-like chair, with a canopy over it, a footstool, a desk 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


127 


and a small table before it, was vacant, and the work — a 
poor cliild^s knitted cap — laid down; but an elderly minis- 
ter, seated at a carved desk, had not discontinued reading 
from a great black book, and did not even cease while the 
strangers crossed the room, merely making a slight in- 
clination with his head, while the ladies half rose, rustled a 
slight reverence with their black, gray or russet skirts, but 
hardly lifted their eyes. Eustacie thought the Louvre had 
never been half so formidable or impressive. 

The page lifted a heavy green curtain behind the canopy, 
knocked at a door, and, as it opened, Eustacie was con- 
scious of a dignified presence, that, in spite of her previous 
petulance, caused her instinctively to bend in such a rever- 
ence as had formerly been natural to her; but, at the same 
moment, a low and magnificent courtesy was made to her, a 
hand was held out, a stately kiss was on her brow, and a 
voice of dignified courtesy said, ‘‘ Pardon me, Madame la 
Baron ne, for giving you this trouble. I feared that other- 
wise we could not safely meet. ” 

‘‘ Madame is very good. My Rayonette, make thy rev- 
erence; kiss thy hand to the lady, my lamb.^^ And the 
little one obeyed, gazing with her bfue eyes full opened, and 
clinging to her mother. 

Ah! Madame la Baronne makes herself obeyed,^ ^ said 
Mme. de Quinet, well pleased. Is it then a girl?^^ 

“ Yes, madame, I could scarcely forgive her at first; but 
she has made herself all the dearer to me. 

“ It is a pity,"’"’ said Mme. de Quinet, “ for yours is an 
ancient stem.^^ 

“ Did madame know my parents?^ ^ asked Eustacie drawn 
from her spirit of defiance by the equality of the manner 
with which she was treated. 

‘‘ Scarcely, replied the duchess; but, with a smile, I 
had the honor to see you married. 

All, then — Eustacie glowed, almost smiled, though a 
tear was in her eyes — you can see how like my little one 
is to her father — a true White Ribaumont. 

The duchess had not the most distinct recollection of the 
complexion of the little bridegroom; but Rayonette^s fair- 
ness was incontestable, and the old lady complimented it so 
as to draw on the young mother into confidence on the pet 
moonbeam appellation which she used in dread of exciting 


128 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


suspicion by using the true name of Berenger, with all 
the why and wherefor-e. 

It was what the duchess wanted. Imperious as some 
thought her, she would on no account have appeared to 
cross-examine any one whose essential nobleness of nature 
struck her as did little Eustacie’s at the first moment she 
saw her; and yet she had decided, before the young woman 
arrived, that her own good opinion and assistance should 
depend on the correspondence of Mme. de liibaumont^s 
history of herself with Maitre Garden '’s. 

Eustacie had, for a year and a half, lived with peasants; 
and, indeed, since the trials of her life had really begun, 
she had never been with a woman of her own station to 
whom she could give confidence, or from whom she could 
look for sympathy. And thus a very few inquh’ies and 
tokens of interest from the old lady drew out the whole 
story, and more than once filled Mme. de Quinet^s eyes 
with tears. 

There was only one discrepancy: Eustacie could not be- 
lieve that the Abbe de Mericour had been a faithless mes- 
senger. Oh, no! Either those savage-looking sailors had 
played him false, or else belle-mere would not send for her. 

My mother-in-law never loved me/^ said Eustacie; “ I 
know she never did. And now she has children by her sec- 
ond marriage, and no doubt would not see my little one 
preferred to them. I will not be her suppliant. 

“ And what then would you do?^^' said Mme. de Quinet 
with a more severe tone. 

“ Eever leave my dear father, said Eustacie, with a 
flash of eagerness; “ Maitre Isaac, I mean. He has been 
more to me than any — any one, I ever knew — save — 

“You have much cause for gratitude to him,^^ said 
Mme. de Quinet. “ I honor your filial love to him. Yet, 
you have duties to this little one. You have no right to 
keep her from her position. You ought to write to Eng- 
land again. I am sure Maitre Isaac tells you so.^^ 

Eustacie would Inive pouted, but the grave, kind author- 
ity of the manner prevented her from being childish, and 
she said, “ If I wrote, it should be to my husband's grand- 
father, who brought him up, designated him as his heir, 
and whom he loved with all his heart. But, oh, madame, 
he has one of those English names! So dreadful! It sounds 
like Vol-au-vent, but it is not that precisely." 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


129 


Mme. de Quinet smiled, but she was a woman of re- 
sources. “ See, my friend,” she said, “ the pursuivant of 
the consuls here has the rolls of the herald'^s visitations 
throughout the kingdom. The arms and name of the Baron 
de Kibaumont-’s wife will there be entered; and from my 
house at Quinet you shall write, and I, too, will write; my 
son shall take care that the letters be forwarded safely, and 
you shall await their arrival under my protection. That 
will be more fitting than running the country with an old 
pastor, hein 9” 

“ Madame, nothing shall induce me to quit him!” ex- 
claimed Eustacie, vehemently. 

‘‘Hear me out, child,” said the duchess. “He goes 
with us to assist my chaplain; he is not much fitter for 
wandering than you, or less so. And you, madame, must, 
I fear me, still remain his daughter-in-law in my house- 
hold; or if you bore your own name and rank, tliis uncle 
and cousin of yours might learn that you were still living; 
and did they claim you — ^ ^ 

“ Oh, madame, rather let me be your meanest kitchen- 
girl!” 

“ To be — what do they call you? Esperance Gardon 
will be quite enough. I have various women here — widows, 
wives, daughters of sufferers for the truth ^s sake, who 
either are glad of rest, or are trained up to lead a godly 
life in the discipline of my household. Among them you 
can live without suspicion, provided,” the old lady added, 
smiling, ‘ ‘ you can abstain from turning the heads of our 
poor young candidates.” 

“ Madame,” said Eustacie, gravely, “ I shall never turn 
any one^s head. There was only one who was obliged to 
love me, and happily I am not fair enough to win any one 
else.” 

“ TeneZy child. Is this true simplicity? Did Gardon, 
truly, never tell -you of poor Samuel Mace?” 

Eustacie^s face expressed such genuine amazement and 
consternation that the duchess could not help touching her 
on the cheek and saying, “Ah! simple as a pensionnairey 
as we used to say when no one else was innocent. But it is 
true, my dear, that to poor Samuel we owe our meeting; I 
will send him off, the poor fellow, at once to Bourg-le-Roy 
to preach his three sermons; and when they have driven 
you a little out of his head, he shall have Mariette there— 

K 0/1 l.olf 


130 * THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 

a good girl, who will make him an excellent wife. She is 
ugly enough, but it will be all the same to him just then! 
I will see him, and let him know that I have reasons. He 
lodges in your house, does he? Then you had better come 
to me at once. So will evil tongues best be silenced. 

‘‘ But hold,^^ the duchess continued, smiling. ‘‘ You will 
think me a foolish old woman, but is it true that you have 
saved the Pearls of Ribaumont, of which good Canon Frois- 
sart tells?^^ . T T, ,1 

Eustacie lifted her child on her knee, untied .the little 
gray frock, and showed them fastened beneath, well out of 
sight. “ I thought my treasures should guard one another, 
she said. ‘‘ One I sent as a token to my mother-in-law. 
For the rest, they are not mine, but hers; her father lent 
them to me, not gave: so she wears them thus; and any- 
thing but her life should go rather than they should."^ 

“ Hein, a fine guardian for them!"^ was all the duchess 
said in answer. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE ITALIAFT PEDDLER. 

This caitiff monk for gold did swear, 

That by his drugs my rival fair 
A saint in heaven should be. 

Scott. 

A GRAKD cavalcade bore .the house of Quinet from Mon- 
tauban — coaches, wagons, outriders, gendarmes — it was a 
perfect court progress, and so slow and cumbrous that it 
was a whole week in reaching a grand old castle standing 
on a hill-side among chestnut woods, with an avenue a mile 
long leading up to it; and battlemented towers fit to stand 
a siege. 

Eustacie was ranked among the duchess’s gentlewomen. 
She was so far acknowledged as a lady of birth, that she 
was usually called Mme. Esperance; and though no one 
was supposed to doubt her being Theodore Garden’s 
widow, she was regarded as being a person of rank -who had 
made a misalliance by marrying him. Tliis Mme. de Quinet 
had allowed the household to infer, thinking that the whole 
bearing of her guest was too unlike that of a Paris hour- 
geoise not to excite suspicion, but she deemed it wiser to re- 


THE CHAPLET OP PEA ELS. 


131 


frain from treating lier with either intimacy or distinction 
that might excite Jealousy or suspicion. Even as it was, 
the consciousness of a secret, or the remnants of Montau- 
ban gossip, prevented any familiarity between Eustacie and 
the good ladies who surrounded her; they were very civil to 
each other, but their only connecting link was the delight 
that every one took in petting pretty little Eayonette, and 
the wonder that was made of her signs of intelligence and 
attempts at talking. Even when she toddled fearlessly up 
to the stately duchess on her canopied throne, and held 
out her entreating hands, and lisped the word ^^montre/^ 
madame would pause in her avocations, take her on her 
knee, and display that wonderful gold and enamel creature 
wliich cried tic-tic, and still remained an unapproachable 
mystery to M. le Marquis and M. le Vicomte, her grandsons. 

Pale, formal stiff boys they looked, twelve and ten years 
old, and under the dominion of a very learned tutor, who 
taught them Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, alternately with an 
equally precise, stiff old esquire, who trained them in mar- 
tial exercises, which seemed to be as much matters of rote 
with them as their tasks, and to be quite as uninteresting. 
It did not seem as if they ever played, or thought of play- 
ing; and if they were ever to be gay, witty Frenchmen, a 
wonderful change must come over them. 

The elder was already betrothed to a Bearnese damsel, of 
an unimpeachably ancient and Calvinistic family; and the 
whole establishment had for the last three years been em- 
ployed on tapestry hangings for a whole suite of rooms, 
that were to be fitted up and hung '»vith the histories of 
Euth, of Abigail, of the ’ Shunammite, and of Esther, 
which their diligent needles might hope to complete by the 
time the marriage should take place, three years later! The 
duchess, who really was not unlike “that great woman 
the Shunammite, in her dignified content with “ dwelling 
among her own people, and her desire to “ receive a 
prophet in the name of a prophet, generally sat presiding 
over the work while some one, chaplain, grandson, or 
young maiden, read aloud from carefully assorted books; 
religious treatises at certain hours, and at others, history. 
Often, however, madame was called away into her cabinet, 
where she gave audience to intendants, notaries from her 
estates, pastors from the villages, captains of little garri- 
sons, soldiers offering service, farmers, women, shepherds. 


tS2 THE CHAPLET OF PEA ELS. 

foresters, peasants, who came either on her business or with 
their own needs — for all of which she was ready with the 
beneficence and decision of an autocrat. 

The chapel had been “ purified,^ ^ and made bare of all 
altar or image. It was filled with benches and a desk, 
whence Isaac Garden, the chaplain, any pastor on a visit, 
or sometimes a candidate for his promotion, would ex- 
pound, and offer prayers, shprtly in the week, more at 
length on Sunday; and there, too, classes were held for the 
instruction of the peasants. 

There was a great garden full of medicinal plants, and 
decoctions and distilleries were the chief variety enjoyed by 
the gentlewomen. The duchess had studied much in quaint 
Latin and French medical books, and, having great experi- 
ence and good sense, was probably as good a doctor as any 
one in the kingdom except Ambroise Pare and his pupils; 
and she required her ladies to practice under her upon the 
numerous ailments that the peasants were continually 
bringing for her treatment. “No one could tell,^^ she 
said, “ how soon they might be dealing with gunshot 
wounds, and all ought to know how to sew up a gash, or 
cure an ague.^^ 

This department suited Eustacie much better than the 
stitching, and, best of all she liked to be sent with Maitre 
Isaac to some cottage where solace for soul and body was 
needed, and the inmate was too ill to be brought to-Mme. 
la Duchesse. She was learning much and improving too in 
the orderly household, but her wanderings had made her 
something of a little gypsy. She now and then was in- 
tolerably weary, and felt as if she had been entirely spoiled 
for her natural post. “What would become of her,’ ^ she 
said to Maitre Isaac, “ if she were too grand to dress Ray- 
onette?” 

She was not greatly distressed that the Montauban pur- 
suivant turned out to have only the records of the Proven- 
qal nobility, and was forced to communicate with his breth- 
ren at Bordeaux before he could bring down the Ribau- 
mont genealogy to the actual generation; and so slow was 
communication, so tardy the mode of doing everything, 
that the chestnut leaves were falling and autumn becom- 
ing winter before the blazoned letter showed Ribaumont, 
de Picardie — “ Gules, fretty or, a canton of the last, a leop- 
ard, sable. Eustache Berenger, ni. Annora, daughter and 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


133 


heiress of Villiam, Baron of Valvem, in the County of 
Dorisette, England, who beareth, azure, a syren regardant 
in^a mirror proper/^ The syren was drawn in all her pro- 
priety impaled with the leopard, and she was so much more 
comprehensible than the names, to both Mme. de Quinet 
and Eustacie, that it was a pity they could not direct their 
letters to her rather than to “ Le Baron de Valvem, 
whose cruel W^s perplexed them so much. However, the 
addi'ess was the least of Eustacie^s troubles; she should be 
only too glad when she got to that, and she was sitting in 
Maitre Isaac^s room, trying to make him dictate her sen- 
tences and asking him how to spell every third word, when 
the dinner bell rang, and the whole household dropped 
down from salon, library, study, or chamber to the huge 
hall, with its pavement of black and white marble, and its 
long tables, for Mme. de Quinet was no woman to discard 
wholesome old practices. 

Then, as Eustacie, with Rayonette trotting at her side, 
and Maitre Isaac leaning on her arm, slowly made her way 
to that high table where dined Mme. la Duchesse, her 
grandsons, the ministers, the gentlemen in waiting, and 
some three or four women besides herself, she saw that the 
lower end of the great hall was full of silks, cloths, and rib- 
bons heaped together; and, passing by the lengthy rank of 
retainers, she received a bow and look of recognition from a 
dark, acute-looking visage which she remembered to be- 
long to the peddler she had met at Oharente. 

The duchess, at the head of her table, was not in the 
best of humors. Her son had sent home letters by a cou- 
rier whom he had picked up for himself and she never liked 
nor trusted, and he required an immediate reply when she 
particularly resented being hurried. It was a galimafre, 
literally a hash, she said; for indeed most matters where 
she was not consulted, did become a galimafre with her. 
Moreover, under favor of the courier, her porters had ad- 
mitted this peddler, and the duchess greatly disliked peddlers. 
All her household stores were bought at shops of good re- 
pute in Montauban, and no one ought to be so improvi- 
dent as to require dealings with these mountebank vaga- 
bonds, who dangled vanities before the eyes of silly girls, 
and filled their heads with Paris fashions, if they did not ' 
do still worse, and excite them to the purchase of cosmetics 
and love-charms. 


134 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


Yet the excitement caused by the approach of a peddler 
was invincible, even by Mme. la Duchesse. It was inevi- 
table that the crying need of glove, kerchief, needle, or the 
like, should be discovered as soon as he came within ken, 
and, once in the hall, there was no being rid of him except 
by a flagrant act of inhospitality. This time, it was worst 
of all, for M. le Marquis himself must needs be the first to 
spy him, bring him in, and be in want of a silver cham for 
his hawk; and his brother the vicomte must follow liinl up 
with all manner of wants inspired by the mere sight of the 
pack. 

Every one with the smallest sum of money must buy, 
every one without, inspect and assist in bargaining; and all 
dinner time, eyes, thoughts, and words were wandering to 
the gay pile in the corner, or reckoning up needs and 
means. The peddler, too, knew what a Calvinist household 
was, and had been extremely discreet, producing nothing 
that could reasonably be objected to; and the duchess, see- 
ing that the stream was too strong for her, wisely tried to 
steer her bark through it safely instead of directly oppos- 
ing it. 

As soon as grace was over, she called her maitre d^hotel, 
and bade him look after that galimafre, and see that none 
of these fools were unreasonably cheated, and that there 
was ho attempt at gulling the young ones with charms or 
fortune-telling, as well as to conclude the matter so as to 
give no excuse for the Italian fellow lingering to sup and 
sleep. She then retired to her cabinet to prepare her dis- 
patches, which were to include a letter to Lord Walwyn. 
Though a nominal friendship subsisted between Elizabeth 
and the French court, the Huguenot chiefs always main- 
tained a correspondence with England, and there w£ts little 
danger but that the Duke de Quinet would be able to get a 
letter, sooner or later, conveyed to any man of mark. In 
the course of her letter, Mme. de Quinet found it necessary 
to refer to Eustacie. She rang her little silver handbell for 
the little foot-page, who usually waited outside her door. 
He appeared not. She rang again, and receiving no answer, 
opened her door and sallied forth, a wrathful dame, into 
the hall. There, of course. Master Page had been ingulfed 
in the galimafre, and not only forming one of the swarm 
around the peddler, but was actually aping courtly grimaces 
as he tried a delicate lace ruffle on the hand of a silly little 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


135 


smirking maiden, no older than himself! But this little 
episode was, like many others, overlooked by Mme. de 
Quinet, as her eye fell upon the little figure of liayonettc 
standing on the table, with her mother and two or three 
ladies besides coaxing her to open her mouth, and show the 
swollen gums that had of late been troubling her, while the 
peddler was evidently expending his blandishments upon 
her. 

The maitre dTiotel was the first to perceive his mistress, 
and, as he approached, received a sharp rebuke from her 
for allowing the fellow to produce his quack medicines, 
and, at the- same time, she desired him to request Mme. 
Esperance to come to her immediately on business. Eus- 
tacie, who always had a certain, self-willed sense of opposi- 
tion when the duchess showed herself peremptory toward 
her, at first began to make answer that she" would come as 
soon as her business was concluded; but the steward made 
a gesture toward the great lady sailing up and down as she 
paced the dais in stately impatience. “ Good fellow, she 
said, ‘‘ I will return quickly, and see you again, though I 
am now interrupted. Stay there, little one, with good 
Mademoiselle Perrot; mother will soon be back.'’^ 

Eayonette, in her tooth-fretfulness, was far from endur- 
ing to be forsaken so near a strange man, and her cry made 
it necessary for Eustacie to take her in arms, and carry her 
to the dais where the duchess was waiting. 

“ So!’’^ said the lady, “ I suspected that the fellow was a 
quack as well as a cheat. 

“ Madame, said Eustacie, with spirit, ‘‘ he sold me un- 
guents that greatly relieved my father last spring.'’^ 

“ And because rubbing relfeved an old man^s rheumatics, 
you would let a vagabond cheat drug and sicken this poor 
child for what is no ailment at all — and the teeth will relieve 
in a few days. Or, if she were feverish, have not we decoc- 
tions brewed from heaven's own pure herbs in the garden, 
with no unknown ingredient?^'’ 

“ Madame, said Eustacie, ruffling into fierceness, “ you 
are very^jpood to me; but I must keep the management of 
my daughter to myself.’^ 

The duchess looked at her from head to foot. Perhaps it 
was with an impulse to treat her impertinence as she would 
have done that of a dependent; but the old lady never for- 
got herself; she only shrugged her shoulders and said, with 


136 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


studied politeness, “ When I unfoi-tunately interrupted 
your consultation with this eminent physician, it was to ask 
you a question regarding this English family. W ill you do 
me the honor to enter my cabinet 

And whereas no one was looking, the old lady showed her 
displeasure by ushering Mme. de Eibaumont into her cab- 
inet like a true noble stranger guest; so that Eustacie felt 
disconcerted. » 

The duchess then began to read aloud her own letter to 
Lord Walwyn, pausing at eve jy clause, so that Eustacie 
felt the delay and discussion growing interminable, and the 
duchess then requested to have Mme. de Eibaumonf s own 
letter at once, as she wished to inclose it, make up her 
packet, and send it without delay. Opening a secret door 
in her cabinet, she showed Eustacie a stair by which she 
might reach Maitre Gardon^s room without crossing the 
hall. Eustacie hoped to find him there and tell him how 
intolerable was the duchess; but, though she found him, it 
was in company with the tutor, who was spending an after- 
noon on Plato with him. She could only take up her letter 
and retreat to madame^s cabinet, where she had left her 
child. She finished it as best she might, addressed it after 
the herald^ s spelling of the title, bound it with some of the 
duchesses black floss silk — wondering meanwhile, but little 
guessing that the peddler knew, where was the tress that 
had bound her last attempt at correspondence, guessing least 
of all that that tress lay on a heart still living and throb- 
bing for her. All this had made her a little forget her haste 
to assert her liberty of action .by returning to the peddler; 
but, behold, when she came back to the hall, it had re- 
sumed its pristine soberness; and merely a few lingering 
figures were to be seen, packing up their purchases. 

While she was still looking round in dismay. Mile. Perrot 
came up to her and said, “ Ah! madame, you may well 
wonder! I never saw Maitre Benoit there so cross; the poor 
man did but offer to sell little Fanchon the elixir that se- 
cures a good husband, and old Benoit descended on him 
like a griffin enraged, would scarce give him time to com- 
pute his charges or pack his wares, but hustled Eim forth 
like a mere thief! And I missed my bargain for that 
muffler that had so taken my fancy. But, madame, he 
spoke to me apart, and said you were an old customer of 
ms, and that rather than the little angel should suffer with 


THE CHAPLET OP PEARLS. 137 

her teeth, which surely threaten convulsions, he would 
leave with you this sovereign remedy of sweet sirup — a 
spoonful to be given each night. 

Eustacie took the little flask. She was much inclined to 
give the sirup by way of precaution, as well as to assure 
herself that she was not under the duchesses dominion; but 
some strong instinct of the truth of the lady^s words that 
the child was safer and healthier undoctored, made her re- 
solve at least to defer it until the little one showed any 
perilous symptom. And as happily Rayonette only showed 
two little white teeth, and much greater good humor, the 
sirup was nearly forgotten, when, a fortnight after, the 
duchess received a dispatch from her son which fllled her 
with the utmost indignation. The courier had indeed ar- 
rived, but the packet had proved to be fllled with hay and 
waste paper. And upon close examination, under the lash, 
the courier had been forced to confess to having allowed 
himself to be overtaken by the peddler, and treated by him 
to a supper at a cabaret. No doubt, while he was afterward 
asleep, the contents of his packet had been abstracted. 
There had been important documents for the duke besides 
Eustacie^ s letters, and the affair greatly annoyed the duch- 
ess, though she had the compensation of having been proved 
perfectly right in her prejudice against peddlers, and her 
dislike of her song’s courier. She sent for Eustacie to tell 
her privately of the loss, and of course’ the young mother at 
once turned pale and exclaimed, “ The wicked one! Ah! 
what a blessing that I gave my little darling none of his 
dose!^^ 

“ Hein 9 You had some from him then!^^ demanded the 
duchess with displeasure. 

“No, madame, thanks, thanks, to you. Oh! I never 
will be self-willed and naughty again. Forgive me, 
madame.-’^ And down she dropped on her knee, with 
clasped hands and glistening eyes. 

“ Forgive you, silly child, for what?'^ said Mme. de 
Quinet, nearly laughing. 

“Ah! for the angry, passionate thoughts I had! Ah! 
madame, I was all but giving the stuff to my little angel 
in very spite — and then — Eustacie^s voice was drowned 
in a passion of tears, and she devoured the old lady^s hand 
with her kisses. 

“Come, come,^^ said the duchess, “let us be reason- 


138 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


able. A man may be ar thief, but it does not follow that he 
is a poisoner.’^ 

“ Nay, that will we see,^^ cried Eustacie. He was re- 
solved that the little lamb should not escape, and he left a 
flask for her with Mademoiselle Eerrot. I will fetch it, if 
madame will give me leave. Oh, the great mercy of Heaven 
that made her so well that I gave her none!"" 

Mrne. de Quinet"s analytic powers did not go very far, 
and would probably have decided against the sirup if it 
had been nothing but virgin honey. She was one who fully 
believed that her dear Queen Jeanne had been poisoned 
with a pair of gloves, and she had unlimited faith in the 
powers of evil possessed by Eene of Milan. Of course, she 
detected the presence of a slow poison, whose effects would 
have been attributed to the ailment it was meant to cure; 
and though her evidence was insufficient, she probably did 
Ercole no injustice. She declined testing the compound on 
any unfortunate dog or cat, but sealed it up in the presence 
of Gardon, Eustacie, and Mile. Perrot, to be produced 
against the peddler if ever he should be caught. 

Then she asked Eustacie if there was any reason to sus- 
pect that he recognized her. Eustacie related the former 
dealings with him, when she had sold him her jewels and 
her hair, but she had no notion of his being the same per- 
son whom she had seen when at Montpipeau. Indeed, he 
had altered his appearance so much that he had been only 
discovered at Nid-de-Merle by eyes sharpened by distrust of 
his pretensions to magic arts. 

Mme. de Quinet, however, concluded that Eustacie had 
been known, or else that her jewels had betrayed her, and 
that the man must have been employed by her enemies. 
If it had not been the depth of winter, she would have pro- 
vided for the persecuted lady"s immediate transmission to 
England; but the storms of the Bay of Biscay would have 
made this impossible in the state of French navigation, 
even if Isaac Gardon had been in a condition to move; for 
the first return of cold had brought back severe rheumatic 
pains, and with them came a shortness of breath, wliich 
even the duchess did not know to be the token of heart 
complaint. He was confined to his room, and it was 
kneeling by his bedside that Eustacie poured out her thank- 
fulness for her child"s preservation, and her own repentance 
for the passing fit of self-will and petulance. The thought 


THE CHAPLET OE PEAKLS. 


139 


of Eiiyonette^s safety seemed absolutely to extinguish the 
fresh anxiety that had arisen since it had become evident 
that her enemies no longer supposed her dead, but were 
probably upon her traces. Somehow, danger had become 
almost a natural element to her, and having once expressed 
her firm resolution that nothing should separate her from 
her adopted father, to whom indeed her care became con- 
stantly more necessary, she seemed to occupy herself very 
little with the matter; she nursed liim as cheerfully and 
fondly, and played with Rayonette as merrily as ever, and 
left to him and Mme. de Quinet the grave consultations as 
to what was to be done for her security. There was a sort 
of natural buoyancy about her that never realized a danger 
till it came, and then her spirit was roused to meet it. 


CHAPTER XXXVL 

SPELL AND POTIOH. 

Churl, upon thy eyes I throw 
All the power this charm doth owe. 

Midsummer Night's Bream. 

Her rival lived! The tidings could not but be communi- 
cated to Diane de Selinville, when her father set out en 
grande tenue' to demand his niece from the Duke de 
Quinet. This, however, was not till spring was advancing; 
for the peddler had not been able to take a direct route back 
to Md-de-Merle, since his first measure had necessarily 
been to escape into a province where the abstraction of a 
Huguenot nobleman"' s dispatches would be considered as a 
meritorious action. Winter weather, and the practice of 
his profession likewise, delayed Ercole so much that it was 
nearly Easter before he brought his certain intelligence to 
the chevalier, and to the lady an ehxir of love, clear and 
colorless as crystal, and infallible ^as an inspirer of affec- 
tion. 

Should she administer it, now that she knew her cousin 
not to be the lawful object of affection she had so long 
esteemed him, but, as he persisted in considering himself, 
a married man.^ Diane had more scruples than she would 
have had a year before, for she had not so long watched 
and loved one so true and conscientious as Berenger de 


140 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


Ribaumont without having her perceptions elevated; but 
at the same time the passion of love had become intensified, 
both by long continuance and by resistance. She had at- 
tached herself, believing him free, and her affections could 
not be disentangled by learning that he was bound — rather 
the contrary. 

Besides, there was plenty of sophistry. Her father had 
always assured her of the invalidity of the marriage, with- 
out thinking it necessary to dwell on his own arrangements 
for making it invalid, so that was no reasonable ground of 
objection; and a lady of Diane^s period, living in the world 
where she had lived, would have had no notion of objecting 
to her lover for a previous amour, and as such was she 
bidden to rank Berenger’s relations with Eustacie. And 
there was the less scruple on Eiistacie^s account, because 
the chevalier, knowing that the duchess had a son and two 
grandsons, had conceived a great terror that she meant to 
give his niece to one of them; and this would be infinitely 
worse, both for the interests of the family and of their party, 
than even her reunion with the young baron. Even Nar- 
cisse, who on his return had written to Paris a grudging 
consent to the experiment of his father and sister, had 
allowed that the preservation of Berenger^s life was needful 
till Eustacie should be in their power so as to prevent such 
a marriage as that! To Diane, the very suggestion became 
certainty: she already saw Eustacie^s shallow little heart 
consoled and her vanity excited by these magnificent pros- 
pects, and she looked forward to the triumph of her own 
constancy, when Berenger should find the image so long 
enshrined in his heart crumble in its sacred niche. 

Yet a little while then would she be patient, even though 
nearly a year had passed and still she saw no effect upon 
her prisoners, unless, indeed, Philip had drunk of one of 
her potions by mistake and his clumsy a;dmiration was the 
consequence. The two youths went on exactly in the same 
manner, without a complaint, without a request, occupy- 
ing themselves as best they might — Berenger courteously 
attentive to her father, and coldly courteous to herself. He 
had entirely recovered his health, and the athletic powers 
displayed by the two brothers when wrestling, fencing or 
snow-balling in the court-yard, were the amazement and 
envy of their guard. Twice in the course of the winter 
there had been an alarm of wolves, and in their eagerness 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


141 


and excitement about this new sport, they had accepted the 
chevalier^ s offer of taking their parole for the hunt. They 
had then gone forth with a huge posse of villagers, who 
beat the woods' with their dogs till the beast was aroused 
from its lair and driven into the alleys, where waited gen- 
tlemen, gendarmes and gamekeepers with their guns. 
These two chases were chieffy memorable to Berenger, be- 
cause in the universal intermingling of shouting peasants 
he was able in the first to have some conversation with 
Eustacie^s faithful protector Martin, who told him the in- 
cidents of' her wanderings, with tears in his eyes, and 
blessed him for liis faith that she was not dead; and in the 
second, he actually found himself in the ravine of the 
Grange du Temple. No need to ask, every voice was shout- 
ing the name, and though the gendarmes were round him 
and he durst not speak to Rotrou, still he could reply with 
significative earnestness to the low bow with which the 
farmer bent to evident certainty that here was the im- 
prisoned Protestant husband of the poor lady. Berenger 
wore his black visor mask as had been required of him, 
but the man^s eyes followed him, as though learning by 
heart the outline of his tall figure. The object of the 
chevalier’s journey was, of course, a secret from the 
prisoners, who merely felt its effects by having their meals 
served to them in their own tower; and when he returned 
after about a month’s absence thought liim looking 
harassed, aged, and so much out of humor that he could 
scarcely preserve his usual politeness. In effect he was 
greatly chagrined. 

“ That she is in their hands is certain, the hypocrites!” 
he said to his daughter and sister; ‘‘and no less so that 
they have designs on her; but I let them know that these 
could be easily traversed. ” 

“ But where is she, the unhappy apostate child?” said 
the abbess. “ They durst not refuse her to you.” 

“ i tell you they denied all present knowledge of her. 
The duke himself had the face to make as though he 
never heard of her. He had no concern with his mother’s 
household and guests forsooth! I do not believe he has; 
the poor fellow stands in awe of that terrible old heretic 
dragon, and keeps aloof from her as much as he can. But 
he is, after all, a lean jeune liomme\ nor should I be sur- 
prised if he were the girl’s gay bridegroom by tliis time, 


U2 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


though I gave him a hint that there was an entanglement 
about the child^s first marriage wliich, by French law, 
would invahdate any other without a dispensation from the 
Pope. " 

“ A hard nut that for a heretic, laughed the abbess. 

‘‘ He acted the ignorant — knew nothing about the young 
lady; but hM the civility to give me a guide and an escort 
to go to Quinet. i/« foi ! I believe they were given to 
hinder me — take me by indirect roads, make me lose time 
at chateaux. When I arrived at the grim old chateau — a 
true dungeon, precise as a convent — there wa's the dame, 
playing the Queen Jeanne as well as she could, and having 
the insolence to tell me that it was true that Madame la 
Baronne de Eibaumont, as she was pleased to call her, had 
honored her residence for some months, but that she had 
now quitted it, and she flatly refused to answer any question 
whither she was gone! The hag! she might at least have 
had tlie decorum to deny all knowledge of her, but nothing 
is more impertinent than the hypocritical sincerity of the 
heretics.'’^ 

“ But her people, exclaimed the abbess; “ surely some 
of them knew, and could be brought to speak. 

‘‘ All the servants I came in contact with played the in- 
corruptible; but still I have done something. There were 
some fellows in the village who are not at their ease under 
that rule. I caused my people to inquire them out. They 
knew nothing more than that the old heretic Garden with 
his family had gone away in Madame la Duchesse^’s litter, 
but whither they could not tell. But the cabaretier there 
is furious secretly with the Quinets for having spoiled his 
trade by destroying the shrine at the holy well, and I have 
made him understand that it will be for his profit to send 
me off intelligence so soon as there is any communication 
between them and the lady. I made the same arrangement 
with a couple of gendarmes of the escort the duke gave 
me. So at least we are safe for intelligence such as would 
hinder a marriage. 

‘‘ But they will be off to England!” said the abbess. 

‘‘ I wager they will again write to make sure of a reception. 
Moreover, I have set that fellow Ercole and others of his 
trade to keep a strict watch on all the roads leading to the 
ports, and give me due notice of their passing thither. 
We have law on our side, and, did I once claim her, no one 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


1.4:3 


could resist my right. Or should the war break out^ as is 
probable, then could my son sweep their whole province 
with his troops. This time she can not escape us. ” 

The scene tliat her father ^s words and her own imagina- 
tion conjured up, of Eustacie attracting the handsome 
widower-duke, removed all remaining scruples from Mine, 
de Selinville. For his own sake, the baron must be made 
to fulfill the prophecy of the ink-pool, and allow his prison 
doors to be opened by love. Many and many a tender art 
did Diane rehearse; numerous were her sighs; wakeful, 
languishing and restless her nights and days; and yet, 
whatever her determination to practice upon her cousin the 
witcheries that she had learned in the Escadron dela Heine- 
mere, and seen played off effectually where there was not 
one grain of love to inspire them, her powers and her cour- 
age always failed her in the presence of him whom she 
sought to attract. Bis quiet reserve and simplicity alwa 3 ^s 
disconcerted her, and any attempt at blandishment that ho 
could not mistake was always treated by him as necessarily 
an accidental error, as if any other supposition would ren- 
der her despicable; and yet there was now and then a some- 
thing that made her detect an effort in his restraint, as if it 
were less distaste than self-command. Her brother had 
contemptuously acquiesced in the experiment made by her- 
self and her father, and allowed that so long as there was 
any danger of the Quinet marriage, the baron ^s existence, 
was needful. He would not come to Nid-de-Merle, nor 
did they want him there, knowing that he could hardly 
have kept his hands off his rival. But when the war broke 
out again in the summer of 1575 he joined that detach- 
ment of Guise ^s army which hovered about tlie Loire, and 
kept watch on the Huguenot cities and provinces of Western 
France. The chevalier made several expeditions to confer 
with his son, and to keep up his relations with the net-work 
of spies whom he had spread over the Quinet provinces. 
The prisoners were so much separated from all intercourse 
with the dependents that they were entirely ignorant of tlie 
object of his absence from home. On these occasions they 
never left their tower and its court, and had no enliven- 
ment save an occasional gift of dainties or message of in- 
quiry from tlie ladies at Bellaise. These were brought by 
a handsome bat slight, pale lad called Aime de Selinville, 
a relative of the late count, as he told them, who had come 


144 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


to act as a gentleman attendant upon the widowed count- 
ess. The brothers rather wondered how he was disposed of 
at the convent, but all there was so contrary to their pre- 
conceived notions that they acquiesced. The first time he 
arrived it was on a long, hot summer day, and he then 
brought them a cool iced sherbet in two separate flasks, 
that for Philip being mixed with wine, which was omitted 
for Berenger; and the youth stood lingering and watching, 
anxious, he said, to be able to tell his lad}’’ how the drinks 
were approved. Both were excellent, and to that effect 
the prisoners replied; but no sooner was the messenger 
gone than Berenger said smilingly, “ That was a love 
potion, Phil. 

“ And you drank it!^^ cried Philip, in horror. 

“ I did not think of it till I saw how the boy^s eyes were 
gazing curiously at me as I swallowed it. You look at me 
as curiously, Phil. Are you expecting it to work? Shall 
I be at the fair lady^s feet next time we meet?’’’ 

‘‘ How can you defy it. Berry?" 

‘‘ Hay, Phil; holy wedded love is not to be dispelled by a 
mountebank’s decoction.” 

“But suppose it were poisonous. Berry, what can be 
done?” cried Philip, starting up in dismay. 

“ Then you would go home, Phil, and this would be 
over. But ” — seeing his brother’s terror — “ there is no 
fear of that. She is not like to wish to poison me. ’’ 

And the potion proved equally ineffective on -mind and 
body, as indeed did all the manipulations exercised upon a 
little waxen image that was supposed to represent M. le 
Baron. Another figure was offered to Diane, in feminine 
form, with black beads for eyes and a black plaster for hair, 
which, when stuck full of pins and roasted before the fire, 
was to cause Eustacie to peak and pine correspondingly. 
But from this measure Diane shrunk. If aught was done 
against her rival it must be by her father and brother, not 
]jy herself; and she would not feel herself directly injuring 
lier little cousin, nor sinking herself below him whom she 
loved. Once his wife, she would be good forever, held up 
l)y his strength. 

Meantime Berenger had received a greater shock than 
she or her father understood in the looking over of some of 
the family parchments kept in store at the castle. The 
chevalier, in showing them to him, had chiefly desired to 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 145 

glorify the family by demonstrating how its honors had 
been won, but Berenger was startled at finding that hiid- 
de-Merle had been, as it appeared to him, arbitrarily and 
unjustly declared to be forfeited by the Sieur de Bellaise, 
who had been thrown into prison by Louis XI. for some 
demonstration in favor of the poor Duke de Berri, and 
granted to the favorite Kibaumont. The original grant 
was there, and to his surprise he found it was to male heirS^ 
— the male heirs alone of the direct line of the Ribaumont 
— to whom the grant was made. How, then, came it to 
Eustacie? The disposal had, with almost equal injustice, 
been changed by King Henry H. and the late Count de 
Ribaumont in favor of the little daughter whose union with 
the heir of the elder line was to conclude all family feuds. 
Only now did Berenger understand what his father had 
said on his death-bed of flagrant injustice committed in his 
days of darkness. He felt that he was reaping the reward 
of the injuries committed against the chevalier and his son 
on behalf of the two unconscious children. He would will- 
ingly at once have given up all claim to the Kid-de-Meiie 
estate — g,nd he was now of age; two birthdays had passed 
in his captivity and brought him to years of discretion — 
but he had no more power than before to dispose of what 
was the property of Eustacie and her child; and the whole 
question of the validity of his marriage would be given up 
by his yielding even the posthumous claim that might have 
devolved on him in case of Eustacie^s death. This would 
be giving up her honor, a thing impossible. 

“ Alas!"^ he sighed, ‘‘ my poor father might well say he 
had bound a heavy burden round my neck.'’^ 

And from that time his hopes sunk lower as the sense of 
the justice of his cause left him. He could neither deny 
his religion nor liis marriage, and therefore could do noth- 
ing for his own deliverance; and he knew himself to be 
suffering in the cause of a great injustice; indeed, to be 
bringing suffering on the^ still more innocent Philip. 

The once proudly indifferent youth was flagging now; 
was losing appetite, flesh, and color; was unwilling to talk 
or to take exercise; and had a wan and drooping air that 
was most painful to watch. It seemed as if the return of 
summer brought a sense of the length and weariness of the 
captivity, and that the sunshine and gayety of the land- 
scape had become such a contrast to the captives^ deadness 


14G 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAllLS. 


of spirit that they could hardly bear to behold them, and 
felt the dull prison walls more congenial to their feelings 
than the gayety of the summer hay and harvest-fields. 


CHAPTER XXXVIL 

- BEATIHG AGAIKST THE BAKS. 

My horse is weary of the stall, j 

And I am sick of captive thrall. 

Lady of the Lake. 

Letteks! They were hailed like drops of water in a 
thirsty land. No doubt they had been long on the way, 
ere they had reached the hands of the Chevalier de Ribau- 
niont, and it was quite possible that they had been read and 
selected ; but, as Berenger said, he defied any Frenchman 
to imitate either Lord Walwyn^s style or Sir Marmaduke^s, 
and when late in the autumn the packet was delivered to 
him, the two captives gloated over the very outsides before 
they opened them. 

The first intelligence that greeted them made them give 
a cry of amusement and surprise. Lady Thistle wood, 
whose regrets that each of her girls was not a boy had 
passed into a proverb, had at length, in Dolly^s seventh 
year, given birth to a son on Midsummer-day. 

‘‘ Well,^^ said Philip, sighing, “ we must drink his health 
to-night! It is well, if we are to rot here, that some one 
should make it up to them!^^ 

And join Walwyn and Hurst said Berenger; and 
then both faces grew much graver, as by these letters, dated 
three months since, they understood how many they must 
have missed, and likewise that nothing had been heard of 
themselves since they had left Paris sixteen months ago. 
Their letters, both to their relations and to Sir Francis 
Walsingham, had evidently been suppressed; and Lord 
North, who had succeeded Walsingham as' embassador, 
had probably been misled by design, either by Narcisse de 
Nid-cle-Merle himself, or by some of his agents, for Lord 
AValwyn had heard from him that the young men were 
loitering among the castles and garrisons of Anjou, leading 
a gay and dissipated life, and that it was universally be- 
lieved that the Baron de Ribaumont had embraced the 
Catholic faith, and would shortly be presented to Henry 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


147 


III. to receive the grant of the Selin ville honors, upon his 
marriage with his cousin, the widow of the last of the line. 
With much earnestness and sorrow did good old Lord 
Walwyn write to his grandson, conjuring him to bethink 
himself of his home, his pure. faith, his loving friends, and 
the hopes of his youth : and, at least, if he himself had been 
led away by the allurements of the other party, to remem- 
ber that Philip had been intrusted to him in full conti- 
dence, and to return him to his home. “ It was grief and 
shame to liim,'^ said the good old man, “ to look at Sir 
Marmaduke, who had risked his son in the charge of one 
hitherto deemed trustworthy; and even if Berenger had in- 
deed forgotten and cast away those whom he had once 
seemed to regard with love and duty, he commanded him 
to send home Philip, who owed an obedience to his father 
that could not be gainsayed.^^ Lord Walwyn further bade 
his grandson remember that the arrangements respecting 
his inheritanee had been made in confidence that his heir 
was English in heart and faith, and that neither the queen 
nor his own conscience would allow him to let his inherit- 
ance pass into French or Papist hands. There was scarcely 
a direct reproach, but the shaken, altered handwriting 
showed Low stricken the aged man must be; and after his 
signature was added one still more trembling line, ‘‘ An 
ye return not speedily, ye will never see the old' grandsire 
more.^^ 

Berenger scarcely finished the letter through his burning 
tears of agony, and then, casting it from him, began to 
pace the room in fierce agitation, bursting out into incoher- 
ent exclamations, grasping at his hair, even laimching 
himself against the massive window with such frenzied 
gestures and wild words that Philip, who had read through 
all with his usual silent obtuseness, became dismayed, and, 
laying hold of him, said, “ Prithee, brother, do not thus! 
What serves such passion?^'’ 

Berenger burst into a strange loud laugh .at the matter- 
of-fact tone. “ What serves it! wliat serves anything!" he 
cried, “ but to make me feel what a miserable wretch I 
am? But he will die, Philip— he will die— not having be- 
lieved me! How shall we keep ourselves from the smooth- 
tongued villain's throat? That I should be thus judged a 
traitor by my grandfather — " 

And with a cry as of bodily anguish, he hid his face on 


148 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


the table, and groaned as he felt the utter helplessness of 
his strong youth in bonds. 

‘‘ It can^t be helped, was the next of the unconsolatory 
platitudes uttered by Phihp, who always grew sullen and 
dogged when his brother's French temperament broke forth 
under any sudden stroke. “ If they will believe such 
things, let them! You have not heard what my father says 
to it. •"’ 

It will be all the same,^^ groaned Berenger. 

“ Nay! now that^s a foul slander, and you should be 
ashamed of doing my father such wrong, said Philip. 
“ Listen;’^ and he read: “ I will believe no ill of the lad 
no more than of thee, Phil. It is but a wild-goose chase, 
and the poor young woman is scarce like to be above 
ground; but, as I daily tell them, ^tis hard a man should 
forfeit his land for seeking his wife. My Lord North sends 
rumors that he is under Papist guiding, and sworn brother 
with the Black Bibaumonts; and my lady, his grandmoth- 
er, is like to break her heart, and my lord credits them 
more than he ought, and never a line as a token comes from 
you. Then there ^s Dame Annora as proud of the babe as 
though neither she nor woman born ever had a son before, 
and plains over him, that both his brothers should be en- 
dowed and he but a younger son. AVhat will be the end 
onT I can not tell. I will stand up for the right as best 
man may do, and never forget that Berry is her first-born, 
and that his child may be hving; but the matter is none of 
mine, and my lord is very aged, nor can a man meddle be- 
tween his wife and her father. So this I tell you that you 
may make your brother lay it to heart. The sooner he is 
here the better, if he be still, as I verily believe and main- 
tain him to be, an honest English heart that snaps his fin- 
gers at French papistry. ‘‘ There, concluded Philip, 
triumphantly, “ he knows an honest man! He^s friend and 
good father to you as much as ever. Heed none of the 
rest. Hefil never let this little rogue stand in your light. 

‘‘As if I cared for that!^^ said Berenger, beginning his 
caged-tiger walk again, and, though he tried to repress his 
anguish, breaking out at times into fierce revilings of the 
cruel toils that beset him, and despairing lamentations over 
those beloved ones at home, with sobs, groans and tears, 
such as Pliilip could not brook to witness, both because they 
were so violent and mournful, and because he thought them 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


149 


womanish, though in eifect no woman^s grief could have 
had half that despairing force. T^iQ fierte of the French 
noble, however, came to his aid. At the first sound of the 
great supper bell he dashed away his tears, composed his 
features, washed his face, and demanded haughtily of Philip, 
whether there were any traces in his looks that the cruel 
hypocrite, their Jailer, could gloat over. 

A nd with proud step and indifferent air he marched into 
the hall, answered the chevalier^s polite inquiry whether 
the letter had brought good tidings by coolly thanking him 
and saying that all at home were well; and when he met 
the old man^s inquiring glance out of the little keen black 
bead in the puckered, withered eyelid, he put a perfectly 
stony unmeaningness into his own gaze, till his eyes looked 
like the blue porcelain from China so much prized by the 
abbess. > He even played at chess all the evening with such 
concentrated attention as to be uniformly victorious. 

Yet half the night Philip heard suppressed moans and 
sobs — then knew that he was on his knees — then, after 
long and comparatively silent weeping, he lay down again, 
and from the hour when he awoke in the morning, he re- 
turned no more to the letters; and though for some little 
time more sad and dispirited, he seemed to have come to 
regard the mis judgment at home as a part of the burden 
he was already bearing. 

That burden was, however, pressing more heavily. The 
temperaments of the two brothers so differed that while the 
French one was prostrated by the agony of a stroke, and 
then rallied patiently to endure the effects, the English 
character opposed a passive resistance to the blow, gave no 
sign of grief or pain, and from that very determination 
suffered a sort of exliaustion that made the effects of the 
evil more and more felt. Thus, from the time Philipps 
somewhat tardy imagination had been made to realize his 
home, his father, and his sisters, the home-sickness and 
weariness of his captivity, which had already begun to un- 
dermine his health and spirits, took increasing effect. 

He made no complaint— he never expressed a wish — but, 
in the words of the prophet, he seemed “ pining away on 
his feet. "" He did not sleep, and though, to avoid remark, 
he never failed to appear at meals, he scarcely tasted food. 
He never willingly stirred from cowering over the fire, and 
was so surly and ill-tempered that only Berenger^s unfail- 


150 


THE CHAP.LKT OF PEAllLS. 


ing good Immor could have endured it. Even a wolf hunt 
did not stir him. He only said he hated outlandish beasts, 
and that it was not like chasing the hare in Dorset. His 
calf-love for Mme. de Selinville had entirely faded away in 
his yearnings after home. She was only one of the tedious- 
ly recurring sights of his captivity, and was loathed like 
all the rest. . The regulation rides with the chevalier were 
more detestable than ever, and by and by they caused such 
fatigue that Berenger perceived that his strength must be 
waning, and became so seriously alarmed that one evening, 
when Phihp had barely dragged himself to the hall, tasted 
noBiing but a few drops of wine, and then dropped into an 
uneasy slumber in his chair, he could not but turn to the 
chevalier an appealing, indignant countenance, as he said, 
in a low but quivering voice, “ You see, sir, how he is al- 
tered 

“ Alas! fair nephew, it is but too plain. He is just of the 
age when such restraint tells severely upon the health. ^ ^ 

Then Berenger spoke out upon the foul iniquity of the 
boy^s detention. For himself, he observed, he had nothing 
to say; he knew the terms of his release, and had not ac- 
cepted them; but Phihp, innocent of all damage to the 
Hibaumont interests, the heir of an honorable family, what 
had he done to incur the cruel imprisonn:^ent that was eat- 
ing away his life? 

“ I tell you, sir, said Berenger, with eyes filled with 
tears, that his liberty is more precious to me than my 
own. Were he but restored to our home, full half the 
weight would be gone from my spirit. 

“Fair nephew,^ ^ said the chevalier,, “you speak as 
though I had any power in the matter, and were not mere- 
ly standing between you and the king. 

“ Then if so,"" said Berenger, “ let the king do as he will 
with me, but let Philip "s case be known to our embassador. "" 

“ My poor cousin,"" said the chevalier, “ you. know not 
what you ask. Did I grant your desire, you would only 
learn how implacable King Henri is to those who have per- 
sonally offended liim — above all, to heretics. Kor could 
the embassador do anything for one who resisted by force 
of arms the king"s justice. Leave it to me; put yourself 
in my hands, and deliverance shall come for him first, then 
for you. "" 

“ How, sir?"" 


THE CHAPLET OE PEAKLS. 


151 


“ One token of concession — one attendance at mass — one 
pledge that the alliance shall take place when the formali- 
ties have been complied with — then can I report you our 
o\yn; give you almost freedom at once; dispatch our young 
friend to England without loss of time; so will brotherly 
alfection conquer those chivalrous scruples, most honora- 
ble in you, but which, carried too far, become cruel obsti- 
nacy/’ 

Berenger looked at Philip; saw how faded and wan was 
the ruddy sun-bunied complexion, how lank and bony the 
sturdy form, how listless and wasted the hands. Then 
arose, bursting within him, the devoted generosity of the 
French nature, which would even accept sin and ruin for 
self, that so the friend may be saved; and after all, had he 
not gone to mass out of mere curiosity? — did he not believe 
that there was salvation in the Gallican Church? Was it 
not possible that, with Philip free to tell his story at home, 
his own deliverance might come before he should be ir- 
revocably committed to Mme. de Selinville? If Eustacie 
were living, her claims must overthrow that, which her rival 
was forcing upon him at her own peril. Nay, how else 
could he obtain tidings of her? And for those at home, 
did they deserve that he should sacrifice all, Philip in- 
cluded, for their sake? The thouglits, long floating round 
his brain, now surged upon him in one flood, and seemed 
to overwhelm in those moments of confusion all his povvers 
of calling up the other side of the argument; he only had 
an instinct remaining that it would be a lie to God and 
man alike. “ God help me!” he sighed to himself; and 
there was sufficient consideration and perplexity expressed 
in his countenance to cause the chevalier to feel his cause 
almost gained; and rising eagerly, with tears in his eyes, 
exclaimed, ‘‘ Embrace me, my dear, dear son! The thing 
is done! Oh! what peace, what joy!” 

The instinct of recoil came stronger now. He stepped 
back with folded arms, saying again, ‘‘ God help me! God 
forbid that I should be a traitor!” 

“ My son, hear me; these are but easily removed points 
of honor, ” began the chevalier; but at that moment Philip 
suddenly started from, or in his slumber, leaped on his feet, 
and called out, Avaunt, Satan!” then opened his eyes^ 
and looked, as if barely recalling where he was. 

‘‘Philip!"^ exclaimed Berenger, “ did you hear. 


152 


THE CHAPLET OP PEAELS. 


I — I donH know/^ he said, half -bewildered. “ Was I 
dreaming that the fiend was parleying with us in the voice 
of Monsieur le Chevalier there to sell our souls for one hour 
of home?^^ 

He spoke English, but Berenger replied in French. 

“You were not wrong, Philip. Sir, he dreamed that 
the devil was tempting me in your voice while you were 
promising me his liberty on my fulfilling your first condi- 
tion.^^ 

“ What?^^ said Philip, now fully awake, and gathering 
the state of things, as he remembered the words that had 
doubtless been the cause of his dream.' “ And if you did, 
Berenger, I give you warning they should never see me at 
home. What! could I show my face there with such tid- 
ings? Ho! I should go straight to La Houe, or to the Low 
Countries, and kill every Papist I could for having de- 
bauched you!’^ 

“Hush! hush! Philip, said Berenger, “I could not 
break my faith to Heaven or my wife even for your sake, 
and my cousin sees how little beholden you would be to me 
for so doing. With your leave, monsieur, we will retire. 

The chevalier detained Berenger for ai moment to whis- 
per: “ AVhat I see is so noble a heart that I know you can 
not sacrifice him to your punctilio. 

Philip was so angry with Berenger, so excited, and so de- 
termined to show that nothing ailed him, that for a short 
time he was roused, and seemed to be recovering; but in a 
few days he flagged again, only, if possible, with more 
gruffness, moodiness, and pertinacity in not allowing that 
anything was amiss. It was the bitterest drop of all in 
Berenger ^s cup, when in the end of January he looked back 
at what Philip had been only a month before, and saw how 
he had wasted away and lost strength; the impulse rather 
to ruin himself than destroy his brother came with such 
force that he could scarcely escape it by his ever-recurring 
cry for help to withstand it. And then Diane, in her 
splendid beauty and witchery, would rise before him, so 
that he knew how a relaxation of the lengthened weary 
effort would make his whole self break its bonds and go out 
to her. Dreams of felicity and liberty, and not with Eus- 
tacie, would even come over him, and he would awaken to 
dfsappointment before he came to a sense of relief and 
thanMulness that he was still his own. The dislike, dis- 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


153 


taste, and dread that came so easily in his time of pain and 
weakness were less easy to maintain in his full health and 
forced inactivity. Occupation of mind and hope seemed 
the only chance of enabling either of the two to weather 
this most dreary desert period ; and Berenger, setting his 
thoughts resolutely to consider what would be the best 
means of rousing Philip, decided at length that any en- 
deavor to escape, however ard uous and desperate, would be 
better than his present apathetic languor, even if it led to 
nothing. After the first examination of their prison, Be- 
renger had had no thought of escape; he was then still weak 
and unenterprising. He had for many months lived in 
hopes of interference from home; and, besides, the likeli- 
hood that so English a party as liis own would be quickly 
pursued and recaptured, where they did not know their 
road and had no passports, had deterred him lest they 
should fall into still straiter imprisonment. But he had 
since gained, in the course of his rides, and by observation 
from the top of the tower, a much fuller knowledge of the 
country. He knew the way to the Grange du Temple, and 
to the chief towns in the neighborhood. Philip and Hum- 
f rey had both lost something of their intensely national look 
and speech, and, moreover, war having broken out again, 
there was hope of falling in with Huguenot partisans even 
nearer than at La Rochelle. But whether successful or 
not, some enterprise was absolutely needed to save Philip 
from his despondent apathy; and Berenger, who in these 
eighteen months had grown into the strength and vigor of 
manhood, felt as if he had force and power for almost any 
efi'ort save this hopeless waiting. 

He held council with Humfrey, who suggested that it 
might be well to examine the vaults below the keep. He 
had a few days before, while going after some of the fire- 
wood, stored below the ground-fioor chamber, observed a 
door, locked, but with such rusty iron hinges that they 
might possibly yield to vigorous efforts with a stone; and 
who could tell where the underground passages might come 
out? 

Berenger eagerly seized the idea. Philipps mood of con- 
tradiction prompted him to pronounce it useless folly, and 
he vouchsafed no interest in the arrangements for securing 
light, by selecting all the bits of firewood fittest for torches, 
and saving all the oil possible from the two lamps they were 


154 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


allowed. The chief difficulty was that Guibert was not 
trusted, so that ail had to be done out of his sight; and on 
the first day Berenger was obliged to make the exploration 
alone, since Hurnfrey was forced to engross Guibert in 
some occupation out of sight, and Philip had refused to 
have anything to do with it, or be. like a rat routing in the 
corners of his trap. 

However, Berenger had only just ascertained that the 
iron-work was so entirely rusted away as to offer no impedi- 
ment, when Philip came languidly roaming into the cellar, 
saying, ‘‘ Hero! Ifil hold the torch! YouTl be losing your- 
self in this wolf^s mouth of a place if you go alone. 

The investigation justified Philipps predictions of its use- 
lessness. Nothing was detected but rats, and vaults, and 
cobwebs; it was cold, earthy, and damp; and when they 
thought they must have penetrated far beyond the pre- 
cincts of the keep, they heard Hurnfrey ^s voice close to 
them, warning them that it was nearly dinner-time. 

The next day brought them a more promising discovery, 
namely of a long straight passage, with a gleam of light at 
the end of it; and this for the first time excited Philipps in- 
terest or curiosity. He would have hastened along it at 
once, but for the warning summons from Hurnfrey; and in 
the excitement of even this grain of interest, he eat more 
heartily at supper than he had done for weeks, and was 
afterward more eager to prove to Berenger that night was 
the best time to pursue their researches. 

And Berenger, when convinced that Guibert was sound 
asleep, thought so too, and accompanied by Hurnfrey, they 
descended into the passage. The light, of course, was no 
longer visible, but the form of the crypt, through which 
they now passed, was less antique than that under the 
keep, and it was plain they were beneath a later portion of 
the castle. The gallery concluded in a wall, with a small 
barred, unglazed window, perfectly dark, so that Berenger, 
who alone could reach to the bottom of it, could not guess 
where it looked out. 

‘‘We must return by daylight; then, may be, we may 
judgo,^^ sighed Philip. 

“ Hark!^^ exclaimed Berenger. 

“ Pats,"^ said Philip. 

“No — listen — a voice! Take care!^^ he added, in a 
lower tone, “ we may be close on some of the servants. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


355 


But, much nearer than he expected, a voice on his right 
hand demanded, “ Does any good Christian hear me?^-’ 

‘‘Who is there?’ ^ exclaimed Philip. 

“ Ah! good sir, do I hear the voice of a companion in 
misery? Or. if you be free, would you but send tidings to 
my poor father?” 

“It is a Norman accent!” cried Berenger. “Ah! ah! 
can it be poor Landry Oshert?” 

“ I am — I am that wretch. Oh, would that Monsieur 
le Baron could know!” 

“ My dear, faithful foster-brother! They deceived me,” 
cried Berenger, in great agitation, as an absolute howl 
came from the other side of the w^all, “ Monsieur le Baron 
come to this! Woe worth the day!” and Berenger with 
difficulty mitigated his alfectionate servant’s lamentations 
enough to learn from him how he had been seized almost 
at the gates of Bellaise, closely interrogated, deprived of 
the letter to Mme. la Baronne, and thrown into this dun- 
geon. The chevalier, not an unmerciful man, according 
to the time, had probably meant to release him as soon as 
the marriage between his son and niece should have rendered 
it superfluous to detain this witness to Berenger’s existence. 
There, then, the poor fellow had lain for three years, and 
his work during this weary time had been the scraping with 
a potsherd at the stone of his wall, and his pertinacious 
perseverance had succeeded in forming a hole just large 
enough to enable him to see the light of the torch carried 
by the gentlemen. On his side he said, there was nothing 
but a strong iron door, and a heavily barred window, look- 
ing, like that in the passage, into the fosse within the 
walled garden; but, on the other hand, if he could enlarge 
his hole sufficiently to creep through it, he could escape with 
them in case of their finding a subterranean outlet. The 
opening within his cell was, of course, much larger than 
the very small space he had made by loosening a stone to- 
ward the passage, but he was obliged always to build up 
each side of his burrow at the hours of his jailer’s visit, lest 
his work should be detected, and to stamp the rubbish into 
his floor. But while they talked, Humfrey and Philip, 
with their knives, scraped so diligently that two more 
stones could be displaced; and, looking down the widening 
hole through tiie prodigious mass .of wall, they could see a 
ghastly, ragged, long-bearded scarecrow, with an almost 


156 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


piteous expression of joy on his face, at once again seeing 
familiar faces. And when, at his earnest entreaty, Beren- 
ger stood so as to allow his countenance to be as visible as 
the torch could make it through the “ walBs-hole,^' the 
vault echoed with the poor fellow ^s delighted cry. “ l am 
happy! Monsieur le Baron is himself again. The assassin 
cruel work is gone! Ah! thanks to the saints! Blessed be 
St. Lucie, it was not in vain that I entreated her!'^ 

The torches were, however, waxing so low that the sight 
could not long be afforded poor Osbert; and, with a prom- 
ise to return to him next day, the party returned to the 
upper air, where they warmed themselves over the fire, 
and held council over measures for the present relief of the 
captive. Berenger grieved that he had given him up so 
entirly for lost as to have made no exertions on his behalf, 
and declared his resolution of entreating that he might be 
allowed to enjoy comparative comfort with them in the 
keep. It was a risk, but the chevalier might fairly suppose 
that the knowledge of Osbert^s situation had oozed out 
through the servants, and gratitude and humanity alike 
impelled Berenger to run some risk for his foster-brother’s 
sake. He was greatly touched at the poor fellow’s devo- 
tion, and somewhat amused, though with an almost tear- 
ful smile at the joy with which he had proclaimed — what 
Berenger was quite unaware of, since the keej) furnished 
no mirrors — the disappearance of his scars. ’Tis even 
so,” said Philip, “ though I never heeded it. You are as 
white from crown to beard as one of the statues at Paris; 
but the great red gash is a mere seam, save when yon old 
Satan angers you, and then it blushes for all the rest of 
your face. ” 

“ And the cheek-wound is hidden, I suppose,” said Be- 
renger, feeling under the long fair mustache and the beard, 
which was developing into respectable proportions. 

“ Hidden? ay, entirely. No one would think your bald 
crown had only twenty-one years over it; but you are a 
personable fellow still, quite enough to please Daphne,” 
said Philip. 

“ Pshaw!” replied Berenger, pleased nevertheless to hear 
the shadow of a jest again from Philip. 

It was quite true. These months of quiescence — en- 
forced though they were— had given his heal I h and consti- 
tution time to rally after the terrible shock they had sus- 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


157 


tained. The severe bleedings had, indeed, rendered his 
complexion perfectly- colorless; but there was something in 
this, as well as in the height which the loss of hair gave his 
brow, which, added to the depth and loftiness of counte- 
nance that this long period of patience and resolution had 
impressed on his naturally fine features, without taking 
away that open candor that had first attracted Diane when 
he was a rosy lad. His frame had strengthened at the same 
time, and assumed the proportions of manhood; so that, in- 
stead of being the overgrown maypole that Harcisse used 
to sneer at, he was now broad-shouldered and robust, ex- 
•ceedingly powerful, and so well made, that his height, up- 
ward of six feet, was scarcely observed, except by compari- 
son with the rest of the world. 

And his character had not stood still. He had first come 
to Paris a good, honest, docile, though high-spirited boy; 
and though manly affections, cares, and sorrows had been 
thrust on him, he had met them like the boy that he was, 
hardly conscious how deep they went. Then had come the 
long dream of physical suffering, with only one thought 
pertinaciously held throughout — that of constancy to his 
lost wife; and from this he had only thoroughly wakened 
in his captivity, the resolution still holding fast, but with 
more of reflection and principle, less of mere instinct, than 
when his powers were lost or distracted in the effort of con- ' 
stant endurance of pain and weakness. The charge of 
Philip, the endeavor both of educating him and keeping up 
his spirits, as well as the controversy with Pere Boiiami, 
had been no insignificant parts of the discipline of these 
months; and, little as the chevalier had intended it, he had 
trained his young kinsman into a far more substantial and 
perilous adversary, both in body and mind, than when he 
had caged him in his castle of the Blackbird ^s Nest. 


CHAPTER XXXVHI. 

THE EHEMY IH PEESEHCE. 

Then came and looked him in the face, 

An angel beautiful and bright. 

And then he knew it was a fiend, 

That miserable knight. 

Coleridge. 

Father, dear father, what is it? What makes you 
look so ill, so haggard ?^^ cried Diane de Selinville, when 


158 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


summoned the next morning to meet her father in the par- 
lor of the convent. 

“ Ah, child! see here. Yoilr brother will havGAis make 
an end of it. He has found her.^^ 

“Eustacie! Ah, and where?^^ 

‘‘ That he will not say, but see here. This is all his billet 
tells me: ‘ The hare who has doubled so long is traced to 
her form. My dogs are on her, and in a week^s time she 
will be ours. I request you, sir, to send me a good purse 
of crowns to reward my huntsmen; and in the meantime — 
one way or the other — that- pet of my sister ^s must be dis- 
posed of. Kept too long, these beasts always become sav- 
age. Either let him be presented to the royal menagerie, 
or there is a still surer way. ^ ^ 

“ And that is all he says!^^ exclaimed Diane. 

“All! He was always cautious. He mentions no 
names. And now, child, what is to be done? To give 
him up to the king is, at the best, life-long imprisonment, 
yet, if he were still here when my son returns — Alas! 
alas! child, I have been ruined body and soul between you! 
How could you make me send after and imprison him? It 
was a mere assassination!^^ and the old man beat his head 
with grief and perplexity. 

“ Father !^^ cried Diane, tearfully, “ I can not see you 
thus. We meant it for the best. We shall yet save him. 

“ Save him! Ah, daughter, I tossed all njght long 
thinking how to save him, so strong, so noble, so firm, so 
patient, so good even to the old man who has destroyed 
his hope — his life! Ah! I have thought till my brain 
whirls. ’ ^ 

“ Poor father! I knew you would love him,'’^ said Di- 
ane, tenderly. “ Ah! we will save him yet. He shall be 
the best of sons to ynu. Look, it is only to tell him that 
she whom he calls his wife is already in my brother '’s hands, 
wedded to him. 

“ Daughter — and he pushed back his gray hair with a 
weary distressed gesture — “ I am tired of wiles; I am old; 
I can carry them out no longer.'’^ 

“ But this is very simple; it may already be true — at 
least it will soon be true. Only tell him that she is my 
brother's wife^ Then will his generosity awaken, then will 
he see that to persist in the validity of his marriage would 
be misery, dishonor to her, then — 


THE CHAPLET OF PEA ELS. 


159 


^ “ Child, you know not how hard he is in his sense of 
right. Even for his brother's sake he would not give way 
an inch, and the boy was as obstinate as he!^^ 

“ Ah! but this comes nearer. He will be stung; his gen- 
erosity will be piqued. He will see that the kindest thing 
he can do will be to nullify his claim, and the child — 

The chevalier groaned, struck his brow with his fist, and 
muttered, “ That will concern no one — that has been pro- 
vided for.. Ah! ah! children, if I lose my own soul for 
you, you—"" 

“ Father, my sweet father, say not these cruel things. 
Did not the queen "s confessor tell us that all means were 
lawful that brought a soul to the Church? and here are 
two. 

“ Two! Why, the youth"s heresy is part of his point 
of honor. Child, child, the two will be murdered in my 
very house, and the guilt will be on my soul."" 

“ JSTo, father! We will — we will Save him. See, only tell 
him this. "" 

“ This — what? My brain is confused. I have thought 
long — long. "" 

“ Only this, father, dear father. You shall not be tor- 
mented any more, if only you will tell him that my brother 
has made Eustacie his wife, then will I do all the rest. "" 

Diane coaxed, soothed, and encouraged her father by her 
caresses, till he mounted his mule to return to the castle at 
dinner-time, and she promised to come early in the after- 
noon to follow up the stroke he was to give. She had never 
seen him falter before — he had followed out his policy with 
a clear head and unsparing hand — but now that Berenger’s 
character was better Known to him, and the crisis long de- 
layed had come so suddenly before his eyes, his whole pow- 
ers seemed to reel under the alternative. 

The dinner-bell clanged as he arrived at the castle, and 
the prisoners were marched into the hall, both intent upon 
making their request on Osbert"s behalf, and therefore as 
impatient for the conclusion of the meal, and the absence 
of the servants, as was their host. His hands trembled so 
much that Berenger was obliged to carve for him; he made 
the merest feint of eating; and nowand then 'raised his 
hand to his head as if to bring back scattered ideas. 

The last servant quitted the room, when Berenger per- 
ceived that the old man was hardly in a state to attend to 


160 


THE CHAPLET OP PEAllLS. 


his request, and yet the miserable frost-bitten state of ijoor 
Landry seemed to compel him to speak. 

‘‘ 8ir,^^ he began, you could do me a great kindness."’^ 

The chevalier looked up at him with glassy eyes. 

“ My son,^^ he said, with an effort, “ I also had some- 
thing to say. Ah! let me think. I have had enough. 
Call my daughter,^ ^ he added, feeling helplessly with Ins 
hands, so that Berenger started up in alarm, and received 
him in his arms just in time to prevent his sinking to the 
floor senseless. 

‘‘It is a stroke, exclaimed Berenger. “Call, Phil! 
Send the gendarmes. 

The gendarmes might be used to the sight of death of 
their own causing, but they had a horror of that which 
came by Nature^s hand. The purple face and loud gasps 
of the stricken man terrified them out of their senses. 
“ C^est un coiip/^ was the cry, and they went clattering 
off to the servants. These, all men but one old crone, 
came in a mass to the door, looked in, beheld their master 
rigid and prostrate on the floor, supported by the prisoner, 
and with fresh shrieks about “ Mesdames! a priest! a doc- 
tor!’’ away they rushed. The two brothers were not in 
much less consternation, only they retained their senses. 
Berenger loosened the ruff and doublet, and bade Philip 
practice that art nf letting blood which he had learned for 
his benefit. When Mme. de Selin ville and her aunt, with 
their escort, having been njet half-way from Bellaise, ar- 
rived sooner than could have been expected, they found 
every door open from hall to entrance gate-way, not a per- 
son keeping watch, and the old man lying death-like upon 
cushions in the hall, Philip bandaging his arm, and Be- 
renger rubbing his temples with wine and the hottest spices 
on the table. “He is better — he is alive,” said Berenger, 
as they entered; and as both ladies would have fallen on 
him with shrieks and sobs, lie bade them listen, assured 
them that the only chance of life was in immediate care, 
and entreated that bedding might be brought down, and 
strong essences fetched to apply to the nose and temples. 
They obeyed, and brought the servants to obey; and by the 
time the priest and the sister infirmarer had arrived from 
the convent, he had opened his eyes, and, as he saw Be- 
renger, tried to murmur something that sounded like ^^Mon 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


IGl 


“ He lives — lie speaks! — lie can receive the sacraments!’^ 
was the immediate exclamation; and as preparations began 
to be made, the brothers saw that their presence was no 
longer needed, and returned to their own tower. 

So, sir,” said the gendarme sergeant, as they w^alked 
down the passage, “ you did not seize the moment for es- 
cape. ’ ’ 

‘‘ I never thought of it,” said Berenger. 

‘‘ I hope, sir, you will not be the worse for it,” said the 
sergeant. ‘ ‘ An honorable gentleman yon have ever proved 
yourself to me, and 1 will bear testimony that you did the 
poor old gentleman no hui*ky but nobles will have it their 
own way, and pay little heed to a poor soldier.” 

“ What do you mean, friend?” 

‘‘Why, you see, sir, it is unlucky that you two hajipened 
to be alone with Monsieur le Chevalier. No one can tell 
what may be said when they seek an occasion against a 2 ier- 
son. ” 

To the brothers, however, this suggestion sounded so hor- 
rible and unnatural, that they threw it from them. They 
applied themselves at every moment possible to enlarging 
Osbert’s hole, and seeking an outlet from the dungeon; but 
this they had not been able to discover, and it was neces- 
sary to be constantly on their guard in visiting the vaults, 
lest their absence from their ajDartment should be detected. 
They believed that if Narcisse arrived at the castle, they 
should find in him a far less gentler jailer than the poor 
old man, for whose state their kindly young hearts could 
not but grieve. 

''.Idiey heard that he had recovered consciousness enough 
to have made a sort of confession; and Pere Bonami brought 
them his formal request, as a dying man, for their })ardon 
for all the injuries he had done them; but his speech Avas too 
much afi'ected for any specification of what these Avere. 
The first thing they heard in early morning Avas that, in 
the course of the night, he had breathed his last; and all 
day the bells of all the churches round were ansAvering one 
another Avith the slow, swinghig, melancholy notes of the 
knell. 

In the early twilight, Pere Bonami brought a message 
that Mme. de Selinville requested M. le Baron to come and 
speak with her, and he Avas accordingly conducted, AA'ith 
the gejidarme behind him, to a small chamber opening into 

0- :^<l half. 


1 G 2 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


tlie hall — the same where the incantations of the Italian 
peddler had been played off before Philip and Diane. The 
gendarme remained outside the door by which they entered 
the little dark room, only lighted by one little lamp. 

“Here, daughter,^ ^ said the priest, “is your cousin. 
He can answer the question that you have so much at 
heart and with these words Pere Bonami passed beneath 
the black curtain that covered the entrance into the hall, 
admitting as he raised it for a moment a flood of pure light 
from the wax tapers, and allowing the cadence of the 
chanting of the priests to fall on the ear. At first Beren- 
ger was scarcely able to discern the pale face that looked 
as if tekrs were all dried up, and even before his eyes had 
clearly perceived her in the gloom, she was standing before 
him with clasped hands, demanding in a hoarse, breathless 
whisper, “ Had he said anything to you?^^ 

“ Anything? No, cousin,' ^ said Berenger, in a kind tone. 
“ He had seemed suffering and oppressed all dinner-time, 
and when the servants left us, he murmured a few con- 
fused words, then sunk." 

“ Ah, ah, he spoke it not! Thank heaven! Ah! it is a 
load gone. Then neither will I speak it, " sighed Diane, 
half aloud. “ Ah! cousin, he loved you." 

“ He often w^as kind to us," said Berenger, impelled to 
speak as tenderly as he could of the enemy, wdio had cer- 
tainly tortured him, but as if he loved him. 

“ He bade us save you," said Diane, her eyes shining 
with strange wild light in the gloom. “ He laid it on my 
aunt and me to save you; you must let us. It must be 
done before my brother comes," she added, in hurried ac- 
cents. “ The messengers are gone; he may be here an3 
moment. He must find you in the chapel — as — as my be- 
trothed!" 

“ And you sent for me here to tempt me — close to such 
a chamber as that?" demanded Berenger, his gentleness 
becoming sternness, as much with his own worse self as 
with her. 

“ Listen. Ah! it is the only way. Listen, cousin. Do 
you know what killed my father? It was my brother's 
letter saying things must be brought to an end; either you 
must be given up to the king, or worse — worse. And now, 
without him to stand between you and my brother, 3^011 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


163 


are lost. Oh! take pity on his poor soul that has left his 
body, and bring not your blood on his head.'’" 

“ Nay,"" said Berenger, “ if he repented, the after con- 
sequences to me will have no effect on him now. "" 

‘ Have pity then on yourself — on your brother."" 

“ I have,"" said Berenger. ‘‘ He had rather die with 
me than see me a traitor. " " 

‘‘ And least of all,"" she exclaimed, with choking grief, 
‘‘ have you compassion on me! — on me who have lost the 
only one W'ho felt for me — on me who have loved you with 
every fiber of my heart — on me who have lived on the mu- 
sic of your hardest, coldest word — on me who would lay 
my life, my honor, in the dust for one grateful glance from 
you — and whom you condemn to the anguish of — your 
death! Ay, and for what? ‘ For the mere shadow of a 
little girl, who had no force to love you, of whom you know 
nothing — nothing! Oh! are you a crystal rock, or are you 
a man? See, I kneel to you to save yourself and me. "" 

There were hot te^ji’s dropping from Berenger "s eyes as 
he caught Diane"s hand, and held it forcibly to prevent her 
thus abasing herself. Her wild words and gestures thrilled 
him in every pulse and wrung his heart, and it was with a 
stifled, agitated voice that he said : 

God help you and me both, Diane! To do what you 
ask would — would be no saving of either. Nay, if you will 
kneel,"" as she struggled with him, let it be to Him who 
alone can bring us through;"" and releasing her hand, he 
dropped on 'his knees by her side, and covered his face with 
his hands, in an earnest supplication that the spirit of re- 
sistance which he almost felt slipping from him might be 
renewed. The action hushed and silenced her, and as he 
rose he spoke no other word, but silently drew back so 
much of the curtain that he could see into the hall, where 
the dead man still lay uncoflined upon the bed where his 
own hands had laid him, and the low, sweet requiem of 
kneeling priests floated round him. Rest, rest, and calm 
they breathed into one sorely tried living soul, and the per- 
turbed heart was quelled by the sense how short the passage 
was to the world where captivity and longing would be 
ended. He beckoned to Pere Bonami to return to Diane, 
and then, protected by his presence from any further dem- 
onstrations, kissed her hand and left her. 

He told Philip as little as possible of this interview, but 


1(>4 


THE CHAPLET OE PEAKES. 


his brother remarked ho\y much time he spent over the 
Psalms that evening. 

The next day the brothers saw from their upper window 
the arrival of Karcisse, or, as he had called himself for the 
last three years, the Marquis de Nid-de-Merle, with many 
attendant gentlemen, and a band of fifty or sixty gendarmes. 
The court was filled with their horses, and rang with their 
calls for refreshment. And the captives judged it wise to 
remain in their upper room in case tliBy should be called 
for. 

They were proved to have been wise in so doing; for 
about an liour after their arrival there was a great clanging 
of steel boots, and Narcisse de lUbaumont, followed by a 
portly, heavily armed gentleman, wearing a scarf of office, 
by two of the servants, and by two gendarmes, entered the 
room. It was the first time the cousins had met since le 
haiser d^Eustacie had been hissed into Berenger^s ear. 
Narcisse looked older, sallower, and more worn than at 
that time; and Philip, seeing his enemy for the first time, 
contrasted him with the stately presence of Berenger, and 
felt as if a rat were strangling a noble steed. 

Each young man punctiliously removed his hat, and Nid- 
de-Merle, without deigning further salutation, addressed 
his companion. “ Sir, you are here on the part of the 
king, and to you I deliver up these prisoners who, having 
been detained here on a charge of carrying on a treasonable 
correspondence, and protected by my father out of con- 
sideration for the family, have requited his goodness by an 
attempt to strangle him, which has caused his death. 

Philip actually made a leap of. indignation; Berenger, 
better prepared, said to the officer, “ Sir, I am happy to be 
placed in charge of a king’s servant, who will no doubt see 
justice done, and shelter us from the private malice that 
could alone devise so monstrous an ac.cusation. A\^e are 
ready to clear ourselves upon oath over the corpse, and all 
the household and our own guards can bear wtiness. 

“ The witnesses are here,” said Narcisse, pointing to the 
servants, ill-looking men, who immediately began to depose 
to having found their master purple-faced and struggling 
in the hands of the two young men, who had been left 
alone with him after dinner. 

Berenger felt that there.was little use in self-defense. It 
was a fabrication the more easily to secure his cousin’s pur- 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


165 


pose of destroying him, and his best hope lay in passing 
into the hands of persons who were less directly interested 
in his ruin. He drew himself up to his full height, say- 
ing, “ If there be justice in France, our innocence will be 
proved. I demand, sir, that you examine the abbess., the 
priest, the steward, the sergeant of gendarmes: they are 
impartial witnesses, and will serve the king’s justice, if 
justice be his purpose. Or, if this be but Monsieur de Nid- 
de-Merle’s way of completing the work he left unfinished 
four years ago, I am ready. Only let my brother go free. 
He is heir to nothing here. ” 

“ Enough, sir. Words against the king’s justice will be 
reckoned against you,” said the officer. “ I shall do my- 
self the honor of attending the funeral the day after to- 
morrow, and then I shall convey you to Tours, to answer 
for this deed at your leisure. Monsieur le Marquis, are the 
prisoners secure here, or would you have them gardes a 
viie?” 

‘‘Ho need for that,” said Harcisse, lightly; “ had there 
been any exit they would have found it long ago. Your 
good fellows outside the door keep them safe enough. 
Monsieur le Baron de Itibaumont, I have the honor to wish 
you a good-morning.” 

Berenger returned his bow with one full of defiance, and 
the door was again locked upon the prisoners; while Philip 
exclaimed, “ The cowardly villain. Berry; is it- a hanging 
matter?” 

“ Not for noble blood,” said Berenger. “ We are more 
likely to be brought to no trial, but to lie prisoners for 
life;” then, as Philip grew white and shivered with a sick 
horror, he added bravely, “ But they shall not have us, 
Philij^. We know the vaults well enough to play at hide 
and seek with them there, and even if we find no egress we 
may hold out till they think us fled and leave open the 
doors!” 

Philip’s face lighted up again, and they did their best by 
way of i^reparation, collecting wood for torches, and put- 
ting aside food at their meals. It was a very forlorn hope, 
but the occupation it caused was effectual in keeping up 
Philip’s spirits, and saving him from despondency. 


106 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

THE PEDDLER^S PREDICTION. 

But if ne’er so close you wall him, 

Do the best that you may; 

Blind Love, if so you call him, 

. Will find out his w^ay. 

Old Song. 

“ Too late/^ muttered Berenger to himself, as he stood 
by the fire in his prison-chamber. Hiimfrey and Philip 
were busy in the vaults, and he was taking his turn in wait- 
ing in the sitting-room to disarm suspicion. ‘ ‘ It is too 
late now, and I thank God that so it is. 

“ Do 5^ou indeed. Monsieur le Baron, said a low voice 
close beside him; and, as he turned in haste, he beheld, at 
the foot of the turret-stair, the youth Airne de Selinville, 
holding a dark-lantern in his hand, and veiling its light. 

“ Ha!^^ and he started to his feet. ‘‘ Whence come 
you?'’^ 

From my lady,'’^ was the youth^s answer. “ She has 
sent me to ask whether you persist in what you replied to 
her the other day. For if not, she bids me say that it is 
not too late.^'’ 

“ And if I do persevere?’^ 

“ Then — ah! what do I know? Who can tell how far 
malice can go? And there are towers and bastilles where 
hope never enters. Moreover, your researches underground 
are known. 

Sir,-’^ said Berenger, the heart-sinking quelled by the 
effort of resistance, “ Madame de Selinville has my answer 
— I must take the consequences. Tell her, if she truly 
wishes me well, the honorable way of saving us would be to 
let our English friends know what has befallen us. 

‘‘ You forget. Monsieur le Baron, even if she could pro- 
claim the dishonor of her family, interference from a for- 
eign power might only lead to a surer mode of removing 
you,^'’ said Aime, lowering his voice and shuddering. 

Even so, I should thank her. Then would the bitter- 
est pang be taken away. Those at our home would not 
deem us faithless recreants.'’^ 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


167 


“ Thank her!^^ murmured the lad in an inward voice. 
“ Very well, sir, I will carry her your decision. It is your 
final one. Disgrace, prison, death — rather than freedom, 
love, wealth!” 

“ The semblance of dishonor rather than the reality!” 
said Berenger, firmly. 

The light-footed page disappeared, and in a few mo- 
ments a very different tread came up from below, and 
Philip appeared. 

“ What is it. Berry? Methought I heard a voice. 

“ Forgive me, brother,” said Bereiiger, holding out his 
hand; “ I have thrown away another offer.” 

‘‘ Tush, the thing to pardon would be having accepted 
one. I only wish they would leave us in peace! What was 
it this time?'’^ 

‘ ‘ A message through young Selmville. Strange, to trust 
her secrets to that lad. But hush, here he is again, much 
sooner than I thought. What, sir, have you been with 
your lady again ?^’ 

“Yes, sir,'’^ the youth said, with a trembling voice, and 
Berenger saw that his eyes were red with weeping; “ she 
bids me tell you that she yields. She will save you even 
while you hate and despise her! There is only one thing — 

“ And what is that?^^ 

“ Y^ou must encumber yourself with the poor Aime. 
You must let me serve you instead of her. Listen, sir, it 
can not be otherwise. ” Then with a brisker, more eager 
voice, he continued: “Monsieur knows that the family 
burial-place is Bellaise? Well, to-morrow, at ten o’clock, 
all the household, all the neighborhood, will come and 
sprinkle holy water on the bier. The first requiem will be 
sung, and then will all re2:)air to the convent. There will 
be the funeral mass, the banquet, the dole. Every creat- 
ure in the castle — nay, in all the neighborhood for twenty 
miles round — will be at the convent, for the abbess has 
given out that the alms are to be doubled, and the bread of 
wheat. Not a soul will remain here, save the two gen- 
darmes on guard at that door, and the poor Aime, whom 
no one will miss, even if any person could be distinguished 
in their black cloaks. Madame le Comtesse has given him 
this key, which opens a door on the upper floor of the keep, 
unknown to the guards, who, for that matter, shall have a 
good tankard of spiced wine to console and occupy them. 


1G8 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


Then is the way clear to the castle-court, which is not over— 
looked by their window, the horses are in the stables, and 
we are off— that is, if Monsieur le Baron will save a i^oor 
youth from the wrath of Monsieur de Nid-de-Merle.'’^ 

“ You are an honest fellow!'’^ cried Philip, shaking him 
vehemently by the hand. “ You shall go with us to Eng- 
land, and we will make a brave man of you. 

‘‘ We shall owe you our lives, said Berenger, warmly, 

“ and be ever bound to you. Tell your lady that this is 
magnanimity; that now I truly thank her as our preserver, 
and shall bless her all the days of the life she gives us. 
But my servants?’^ 

“ Guibert is a traitor,” said Aime; he has been so ever 
since you were at Paris. Breathe no word to him ; but he, 
as a Catholic, shall be invited to the funeral. Your stout 
Englishman should be all means be with us.” 

My Norman, also,^^ added Berenger — ‘‘ my dear fos- 
ter-brother, who has languished in the dungeon for three 
years;” and when the explanation had been made, Aime 
assented, though half-unwillingly, to the necessity, and 
presently quitted them to bear back their answer to his 
lady. Philip shook his hand violently again, patted him 
on the back, so as almost to take away his breath, and bade 
him never fear, they would be sworn brothers to him for- 
ever; and then threw up his hat into the air, and was so 
near astonishing the dungeon walls with a British hurrah, 
that Berenger had to put his hand over his mouth and 
strangle the shout in his very throat. 

'Idle chief of that night was spent in enlarging the hole 
in OsberPs wall, so as to admit of his creeping through it; 
and they also prepared their small baggage for departure. 
Their stock of money, though some had been spent on re- 
newing their clothes, and some in needful gratuities to the 
servants and gendarmes, was sufficient for jiresent needs, 
and they intended to wear their ordinary dress. They were 
unlikely to meet any of the peasants in the neighborhood ; 
and, indeed, Berenger had so constantly ridden out in his 
black mask, that its absence, now that his scars were gone, 
was as complete a change as could be effected in one whose 
height was so unusual. 

“ There begins the knell,” said Philip, standing at the 
window. “ It^s our joy-bell. Berry! Every clang seems 
to me to say, ‘ Home! home! homeV ” 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


169 


“For you, Phil/^ said Berenger; “ but I must be satis- 
fied of Eustacie^s fate first. I shall go first to Nissard — 
whither we were bound when we were seized — then to La 
Kochelle, whence you may — 

“No more of that/^ burst out Philip. “ What! would 
you have me leave you now, after all we haver gone through 
together? Not that you will find her. I donH want to vex 
you, brother, on such a day as this, but yon conjurer^s 
words are coming true in the other matter.^’’ 

“How? What mean you, Phil?^^ 

“ Wliat^s the meaning of Aime?^^ asked Philip. “ Even 
I am French scholar enough for that. And who sends 
him?^^ 

Meantime the court was already filling with swarms of 
persons of every rank and degree, but several anxious 
hours had passed before the procession was marshaled; and 
friars and monks, black, white, and gray — priests in rich 
robes and tall caps — black-cloaked gentlemen and men-at- 
arms — all bearing huge wax- tapers — and peasants and beg- 
gars of every conceivable aspect — filed out of the court, 
bearing with them the richly emblazoned bier of the noble 
and puissant knight, the Beausire Charles Eustache de 
Kibaiimont Nid-de-Merle, his son walking behind in a long 
black mantle, and all who counted kindred or friendship 
following two and two; then all the servants, every one 
who properly belonged to the castle, were counted out by 
the brothers from their windows, and Guibert among them. 

“ Messieurs, a low, anxious voice sounded in the room. 
“We will only fetch Osbert.'’^ 

It was a terrible only, as precious moments slipped away 
before there appeared in the lower chamber Berenger and 
Humfrey, dragging between them a squalid wretch, with a 
skin like stained parchment over a skeleton, tangled hair 
and beard, staring bewildered eyes, and fragments of gar- 
ments, all dust, dirt, and rags. 

“Leave me, leave me, dear master,^" said the object, 
stretching his whole person toward the fire as they let him 
sink down before it. “ You would but ruin yourself.’" 

“ It is madness to take him,” said Aime, impatiently. 

“ I go not without him,” said Berenger. “ Give me the 
soup, Philip.” 

Some soup and wine had been placed by the fire, and 
likewise a shirt and a suit of Humfrey’s clothes were spread 


170 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


before it. Aime burst out into the yard, absolutely weep- 
ing with impatience, when, unheeding all his remonstrances, 
his three companions applied themselves to feeding, rub- 
bing, and warming Osbert, and assuring him that the pains 
in his limbs would pass away with warmth and exercise. 
He had been valiant of heart in his dungeon; but his sud- 
den plunge into upper air was like rising from the grave, 
and brought on all the effects of his dreary captivity, of 
which he had hardly been sensible when he had first listened 
to the voice of hope. 

Dazzled, crippled helpless, it seemed almost impossible 
that he should share the flight, but Berenger remained reso- 
lute; and when Aime returned from his fourth frantic 
promenade, he was told that all was ready. 

But for the strength of Berenger and Humfrey the poor 
fellow could never have been carried up and up, nearly to 
the top of the keep, then along a narrow gallery, then 
down again even to the castle-hall, now empty, though 
with the candlesticks still around where the bier had been. 
Aime kneeled for a moment where the head had been, hid- 
ing his face; Osbert rested in a chair; and Philip looked 
wistfully up at his own sword hung over the chimney. 

“ Resume your swords, messieurs,’^ said Aime, observ- 
ing him; ‘‘ Madame desires it; and take pistols also.^^ 

They gladly obeyed; and when, after this short delay, 
they proceeded, Osbert moved somewhat less painfully, but 
when they arrived at the stable only four horses stood there. 

“Ah! this miserable cried Aime, passionately, “he 
ruins all my arrangements. 

“ Leave me,” again entreated Landry. “ Once outside, 
I can act the beggar and cripple, and get back to Nor- 
mandy.''’ 

“ Better leave me,” said Humfrey; “ they can not keep 
me when you are out of their clutches.” 

“ Help me, Humfrey,” said Berenger, beginning to lift 
his foster-brother to the saddle, but there the poor man 
wavered, cried out that his head swam, and he could not 
keep his seat, entreating almost in agony to be taken down. 

“ Lean on me,” said Berenger, putting his arms round 
him. “ There! you will be able to get to the Grange du 
Temple, where you will be in safe shelter. ” 

“ Sir, sir,” cried Aime, ready to tear his hair, “ this is 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 171 

ruin! My lady meant you to make all speed to La Rochelle 
and there embark, and this is the contrary way!’^ 

“ That can not be helped, said Berenger; “it is the 
only safe place for my foster-brother.^^ 

Aime, with childish petulance, muttered something 
about ingratitude in crossing his lady's plans; but, as no 
one attended to him, he proceeded to unfasten his horse, 
and then exclaimed, half-crying, “ Will no one help me?" 

“ Not able to saddle a horse! a pretty fellow for a cava- 
lier!" exclaimed Philip, assisting, however, and in a few 
minutes they were all issuing from a low side gate, and 
looking back with bounding hearts at the drooping banner 
on the keep of Nid-de-Merle. 

Only young Aime went with bowed head and drooping 
look, as though pouting, and Berenger, putting Osbert's 
bridle into Humfrey's hand, stepped up to him, saying, 
“ Hark3^ou, Monsieur de Selinville, I am sorry if we seemed 
to neglect you. We owe you and your lady all gratitude, 
but I must be the judge of my own duty, and you can only 
bo with me if you conform. ’ ' 

The youth seemed to be devouring his tears, but only 
said, “ I was vexed to see my lady's plan marred, and your 
chance thrown away. " 

“ Of that I must judge," said Berenger. 

T'hey were in a by-lane, perfectly solitary. The 
whole country was at the funeral. Through the frosty air 
there came an occasional hum or murmur from Bellaise, 
or the tinkle of a cow-bell in the fields, but no human being 
was visible. It was certain, however, that the Rotrous, 
being Huguenots, and no vassals of Nid-de-Merle, would 
not be at the obsequies; and Berenger, walking with swift 
strides, supporting Osbert on his horse, continued , to cheer 
him with promises of rest and relief there, and listened to 
no entreaties from Philip or Humfrey to take one of their 
horses. Had not Osbert borne him on his shoulders 
through the butchery at Paris, and endured three years of 
dungeon for his sake? 

As for Philip, the slow pace of their ride was all insuffi- 
cient for his glee. He made his horse caracole at every 
level space, till Berenger reminded him that they might 
have far to ride that night, and even then he was con- 
stantly breaking into attempts at shouting and whistling 


172 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


as often repressed, and springing up in his stirrups to look 
over the high hedges. 

The Grange was so well concealed in its wooded ravine, 
that only, when close upon the gate, the party became 
aware that this farm -yard, usually so solitary, formed an 
exception to the general desertion of the country. There 
was a jingle and a stamp of horses in the court, which 
could hardly be daylight echoes of the Templars. Berenger 
feared that the Guisards might have descended upon Eotrou, 
and was stepping forward to reconnoiter, while young De 
Selinville, trembling, besought him not to run into danger, 
but to turn and hasten to La Rochelle. By this time, how- 
ever, the party had been espied by two soldiers stationed at 
the gate, hut not before Berenger had had time to remark 
that they did not wear either the gold fleur-de-lis like his 
late guards, or the white cross of Lorraine; nor had they 
the strange air of gay ferocity usual with the king’s mer- 
ceuaries. And almost by instinct, at a venture, he made 
the old Huguenot sign he had learned from his father, and 
answered, “ For God and the Religion.” 

The countersign was returned. Bearn and Bourbon is 
the word to-day, comrade,” replied the sentinel. fllli 
quoi ! have you had an encounter, that you bring a wound- 
ed man?” 

“ Not wounded, but nearly dead in a Guisard j^rison,” 
said Berenger, with an unspeakable sense of relief and 
security, as the sentries admitted them into the large walled 
court, where horses were eating hay, being watered and 
rubbed down; soldiers snatching a hasty meal in corners; 
gentlemen in clanking breast-plates coming in and out of 
the house, evidently taking orders from a young man in a 
gray and silver suit, whose brown eagle face, thin cheeks, 
arched nose, and black eyes of keenest fire, struck Berenger 
at once with a sense of recognition as well as of being under 
a glance that seemed to search out everybody and every- 
thing at once. 

‘‘ More friends!” and the tone again recalled a fiood of 
recollections. ‘‘ I thank and welcome you. What! You 
have met the enemy — where is he?’' 

“ My servant is not wounded, sire,” said Berenger, re- 
moving his hat and bending low. “ This is the effect of 
long captivity. We have but just escaped. ” 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 173 

“ Then we are in the same case! Pardon me, sir, I have 
seen you before, but for once I am at fault. 

“ When I call myself De Eibaumont, your grace will not 
wonder.'’^ 

‘‘ The dead alive! If I niistake not, it was in the In- 
ferno itself that we last met! But we have broken through 
the gates at last! I remember poor King Charles was de- 
lighted to hear that vou lived! But where have von been a 
captive?^ ^ 

‘‘ At Kid-de-Mer]e, sire; my kinsmen accused me of trea- 
son in order to hinder my search for my wife. AVe escaped 
even now during the funeral of the chevalier. 

By favor of which we are making our way to Parthenay 
unsuspected, though, by my faith, we gather so like a snow- 
ball, that we could be a match for a few hundreds of 
Guisards. Who is with you. Monsieur de Eibaumont?^^ 
Let me present to your majesty my English brother, 
Philip Thistle wood, said Bereuger, drawing the lad for- 
ward, making due obeisance, though entirely ignorant who 
was the plainly dressed, travel-soiled stranger, so evidently 
a born lord of men. 

“ An Englishman is ever welcome,^^ was his gracious re- 
ception. 

“ And, added Berenger, ‘^et me also present the young 
De Selinville, to whom I owe my escape. AVhere is he, 
Philip?^^ 

He seemed to be busy with the horses, and Berenger 
could not catch his eye. 

“ 8elinville! I thought that good Huguenot house was 
extinct. 

“ This is a relation of the late Count de Selinville, my 
cousin's husband, sire. He arranged my evasion, and would 
be in danger at Nid-de-Merle. Call him, Philip. " 

Before this was done, however, the king's attention was 
otherwise claimed, and turning to one, of his gentlemen he 
said, “ Here, D'Aubigne, I present to you an acquaintance 
made in Tartarus. See to his entertainment ere we start 
for Parthenay." 

Agrippa d'Aubigne, still young, but grave and serious 
looking, greeted M. de Eibaumont as men meet in hours 
when common interests make rapid friendships; and from 
him Berenger learned, in a few words, that the King of 
Navarre's eyes had been opened at last to the treachery of 


174 


THE CHAPLET OP PEAHLS. 


the court, and his own dishonorable bondage. During a 
feverish attack, one night when D’Aubigne and D^Arniag- 
nac were sitting up with him, his resolution was taken; 
and on the first hunting-day after his recovery, he, 
with these two, the Baron de Rosny and about thirty more 
of his suite, had galloped away, and had joined the Mon- 
sieur and the Prince of Conde at Alencon. He had abjured 
the Catholic faith, declared that nothing but ropes should 
bring him back to Paris, and that he left there the mass 
and his wife — the first he could dispense with, the last he 
meant to have; and he was now on his way to Parthenay 
to meet his sister, whom he had sent Rosny to demand. 
By the time Berenger had hoard this, he had succeeded in 
finding honest Rotrou, who was in a state of great triumph, 
and readily undertook to give Osbert shelter, and as soon 
as he should have recovered to send him to head-quarters 
with some young men who he knew would take the field as 
soon as they learned that the King of Navarre had set u]^ 
his standard. Even the inroads made into the good 
farmer’s stores did not abate his satisfaction in entertaining 
the prime hope of the Huguenot cause; but Berenger ad- 
vanced as large a sum as he durst out of his purse, under 
pretext of the maintenance of Osbert during his stay at the 
Grange. He examined Rotrou upon his subsequent 
knowledge of Isaac Garden and Eustacie, but nothing had 
been heard of them since their departure, now nearly three 
years back, except a dim rumor that they had been seen at 
the Synod of Montauban. 

‘‘ Well, my friend,” said Philip, when about to remount, 
“ this will do rather better than a headlong gallop to 
Rochelle with Nid-de-Merle at our hesls.” 

“ If Monsieur le Baron is safe, it is well,” said Aime 
shortly. 

“ Is Selinville there?” said Berenger, coming up. 
‘‘ Here, let me take you to the King of Navarre: he knew 
your family in Languedoc. ” 

No, no,” petulantly returned the boy. “ What am I 
that he should notice me? It is Monsieur de Ribaumoiit 
whom I follow, not him or his cause. ” 

“Boy,” said Berenger, dismayed, “remember, I liave 
answered for you. ” 

“lam no traitor,” proudly answered the strange boy, 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


175 


and Berenger was forced to be thus satisfied, though in- 
tending to watch him closely. 


CHAPTER XL. 

THE SAHDS OF OLOHHE. 

Is it the dew of night 
That on her glowing cheek 
Shines in the moonbeam? — Oh, she weeps, she weeps. 

And the good angel that abandoned her 
At her hell baptism, by her tears drawn down 
Resumes his charge . . , and the hope 
Of pardon and salvation rose 
As now she understood 
Thy lying prophecy of truth. 

Southey. 

“ Monsieur de Ribaumont/^ said Henry of Navarre, 
as he stood before the fire after supper at Parthenay, “ I 
have been thinking what commission I could give you pro- 
portioned to your rank and influence. 

Thanks to your grace, that inquiry is soon answered. 
I am a beggar here. Even my paternal estate in Normandy 
is in the hands of my cousin. 

“You have wrongs, said Henry, “and wrongs are 
sometimes better than possessions in a party like ours. 

Berenger seized the opening to explain his position, and 
mention that his only present desire was for permission, in 
the first place, to send a letter to England by the messen- 
ger whom the king was dispatching to Elizabeth, in toler- 
able security of her secret countenance; and secondly, to 
ride to Nissard to examine into the story he had previously 
heeded so little, of the old man and his daughter rescued 
from the waves the day before La Sablerie was taken. 

“If Pluto relented, my dear Orpheus, surely Navarre- 
may,^^ said Henry good-humoredly; “ only may the priest 
not be more adamantine than Minos. Where lies Nissard? 
On the Sables d'Olonne? Then you may go thither with 
safety while we lie here, and I shall wait for my sister, or 
for news of her.^^ 

So Berenger arranged for an early start on the morrow; 
and young Selinville listened with a frown, and strange 
look in his dark eyes. “ You go not to England?^^ he said. 

“ Not yet?^^ said Berenger. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


17(] 


“This was not what my lady expected/" he muttered; 
but though Berenger silenced him by a stern look, he took 
the first opportunity of asking Philip if it would not be far 
wiser for his brother to place himself in safety in England. 

“ Wiser, but less honest/" said Philip. 

“ He who has lost all here, who has incurred his grand- 
father’s anger/" pursued Aime, “ were he not wiser to 
make his peace with his friends in England?"" 

“ His friends in England would not like him the better 
for deserting his poor {vite"s cause,"" said Philip. “ I ad- 
vise you to hold your tongue, and not meddle or make. "" 

Aime subsided, and Philip detected something like tears. 
He had still much of rude English boyhood about him, and 
he laughed roughly. “ A fine fellow, to weep at a word! 
Hie thee back to feed my lady’s lap-dog, "tis all thou art 
fit for.” 

“ There spoke English gratitude,” said Aime, with a 
toss of the head and fiash of the eye. 

Philip despised him the more for casting up his obliga- 
tions, but had no retort to make. He had an idea of mak- 
ing a man of young Selinville, and his notion of the process 
had something of the bullying tendency of English youth 
toward the poor-spirited or cowardly. He ordered the boy 
roughly, teased him for his ignorance of manly exercises, 
tried to cure his helplessness by increasing his difficulties, 
and viewed his fatigue as affectation or effeminacy. Beren- 
ger interfered now and then to guard the poor boy from a 
horse-jest ar practical joke, but he too felt tjiat Aime was 
a great incumbrance, hopelessly cowardly, fanciful, and 
petulant; and he was sometimes driven to speak to him 
with severity verging on contempt, in hopes of rousing a 
sense of shame. 

The timidity, so unusual and inexplicable in a youth of 
eighteen or twenty, showed itself irrepressibly at the Sands 
of Olonne. These were not misty, as on Berenger "s former 
journey. Eissard steeple was soon in sight, and the guide 
who joined them on a rough pony had no doubt that there 
would be ample time to cross before high water. There 
was, however, some delay, for the winter rains had brought 
down a good many streams of fresh water, and the sands 
were heavy and wet, so that their horses proceeded slowly, 
and the rush and dash of the waves proclaimed that the 
flow of the tide had begun. To the two brothers the 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


177 


break and sweep was a home-sound, speaking of freshness 
and freedom, and the salt breeze and spray carried with 
them life and ecstasy. Philip kept as near the incoming 
waves as his inland-bred horse would endure, and sung, 
shouted, and hallooed to them as welcome as English 
waves; but Aime de Selinville had never even beheld the 
sea before : and even when the tide was still in the distance, 
was filled with nervous terror as each rushing fall sounded 
nearer; and, when the line of white foamy crests became 
more plainly visible, he was impelled to hurry on toward 
the steeple so fast that the guide shouted to him that he 
would only bury himself in a quicksand. 

But,^'’ said he, white with alarm, and his teeth chatter- 
ing, ‘ ‘ how can we creep with those dreadful waves advanc- 
ing upon us to drown us?^^ 

Berenger silenced Philip’s rude laugh, and was beginning 
to explain that the speed of the waves could always be cal- 
culated by an experienced inhabitant; and his voice had 
seemed to pacify Aime a little., when the spreading water 
in front of a broken wave flowing up to his horse’s feet, 
again rendered him nearly frantic. “ Let us go back!” he 
wildly entreated, turning liis horse; but Berenger caught 
his bridle, saying, That would be truly death. Boy, un- 
less you would be scorned, restrain your folly. Nothing else 
imperils us. ” 

Here, however, the guide interposed, saying that it had 
become too late to pursue their course along the curve of 
the shore, but they must at once cut straight across, which 
he had intended to avoid, because of the greater depth of a 
small river that they would have to cross, which divided 
further out into small channels, more easily forded. They 
thus went along the cord of the arc formed by the shore, 
and Aime was somewhat reassured, as the sea was at first 
further off; but before long they reached the stream, which 
lost itself in many little channels in the sands, so that when 
the tide was out there was a perfect net- work of little 
streams dividing low shingly or grassy isles, but at nearly 
high tide as at present, many of these islets were sub- 
merged, and the strife between river and sea caused sudden 
deepenings of the water in the channels. 

The guide eagerly explained that the safest place for 
crossing was not by the large sand-bank furthest inland and 
looking firm and promising— it was a recent sliifting per- 


178 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


formance of the water^s heaping up, and would certainly 
sink away and bury horse and man. They must ride fur- 
ther out, to the shingly isle; it and the channels on either 
side had shingly bottoms, and were safe. 

“ This way,^^ called 13erenger, himself setting the ex- 
ample, and finding no difficulty; the water did not rise 
above his boots, and the current was not strong. He had 
reached the shingly isle when he looked round for his com- 
panions; Humfrey and Philip were close behind him; but, 
in spite of the loud gare!^^ of the guide, Aime, or his 
horse — for each was ■ equally senseless with alarm — was 
making inward; the horse was trying to tread on the sand- 
bank, which gave way like the water itself, under its fran- 
tic struggles — there was a loud cry — a shrill, unmistakable 
woman ^s shriek — the horse was sinking — a white face and 
helpless form were being carried out on the waves, but not 
before Berenger had fiung himself from his horse, thrown 
off his cloak and sword, and dashed into the water; and in 
the lapse of a few moments he struggled back to the island, 
where were Philip and Humfrey, leg-deep in water: the 
one received his burden, the other helped him to land. 

‘‘On, gentlemen, not a moment to lose,^^ cried the 
guide; and Berenger, still panting, flung himself on his 
horse, held out his arms, gathered the small, almost inani- 
mate figure upon the horse ^s neck before him, and in a few 
minutes more they had crossed the perilous passage, and 
were on a higher bank where they could safely halt; and 
Philip as he came to help his brother, exclaimed, “ What a 
fool the boy is!^'’ 

“ Hush!” said Berenger, gravely, as they laid the figure 
on the ground. 

“ What! He canT have been drowned in that moment. 
We’ll bring him to.” 

“ Hands off!” said Berenger, kneeling over the gasping 
form, and adding in a lower voice, “ Don’t you see?” He 
wound his hand in the long drenched hair, and held it up, 
with cheeks burning like fire, and his ear purple. 

“ A woman! what? who?” Then suddenly divining, he 
exclaimed, “ The jade!” and started with wide eyes. 

“ Stand back,” said Berenger; “ she is coming to her- 
self.” 

Perhaps she had been more herself than he knew, for, as 
he supported her head, her hand stole over his and held it 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


179 


fast. Tull of consternation, perplexity, and anger as lie 
was, he could not but feel a softening pity toward a creat- 
ure so devoted, so entirely at his mercy. At the moment 
when she lay helpless against him, gasps heaving her breast 
under her manly doublet, her damp hair spread on his 
knees, her dark eyes in their languor raised imploringly to 
his face, her cold hand grasping his, he felt as if this great 
love were a reality, and as if he were hunting a shadow; 
and, as if fate would have it so, he must save and gratify 
one whose affection must conquer his, who was so tender, 
so beautiful — even native generosity seemed on her side. 
But in the midst, as in his perplexity, he looked up over 
the gray sea, he seemed to see the picture so often present 
to his mind of the pale, resolute girl, clasping her babe to 
her breast, fearless of the advancing sea, because true and 
faithful. And at that thought faith and prayer rallied once 
again round his heart, shame at the instant^’s wavering 
again dyed his cheek; he recalled himself, and speaking the 
more coldly and gravely because his heart was beating over- 
hotly, he said, ‘‘ Cousin, you are better. It is but a little 
way to hTissard.^^ 

Why have you saved me, if you will not pity me? she 
murmured. 

‘‘ I will not pity, because I respect my kinswoman who 
has saved our lives, he said, steadying his voice with diffi- 
culty. “ The priest of Nissard will aid me in sparing your 
name and fame. 

“ Ah!^^ she cried, sitting up with a start of joy, but 
he would make too many inquiries! Take me to England 
first. 

Berenger started as he saw how he had been misunder- 
stood. 

“ Neither here nor in England could my marriage be set 
aside, cousin. No; the priest sliall take charge of you, and 
place you in safety and honor. 

“ He shall not r’ she cried hotly. “Why — why will you 
drive me from you — me who ask only to follow you as a 
menial servant?'’ 

“ That has become impossible,^^ he answered; “ to say 
nothing of what my brother, my servant, and the guide have 
seen;^'’ and, as she remembered her streaming hair, and 
tried, m dawning confusion, to gather it together, he con- 
tinued: “ You shrunk from the eye of the King of Navarre. 


180 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAPLS. 


You can not continue as you have done; you have not even 
strength/^ 

Ah! had you sailed for England/^ slie murmured. 

“ It had only been greater shame/^ he said. “ Cousin, I 
am head of your family, husband of your kinswoman, and 
bound to respect the reputation you have risked for me. I 
shall, therefore, place you in charge of the priest till you 
can either return to your aunt or to some other convent. 
You can ride now. We will not wait longer in these wet 
garments. 

He raised her from the ground, threw his own dry cloak 
round her shoulders and unmanageable hair, and lifted her 
on his horse; but, as she would have leaned against him, 
he drew himself away, beckoned to Philip, and put the 
bridle into his hands, saying, Take care of her. I shall 
ride on and warn the jjriest.^^ 

“ The rock of diamond,^ ^ she murmured, not aware that 
the diamond had been almost melting. That youthful 
gravity and resolution, with the niixture of respect and 
protection, imposed as usual upon her passionate nature, 
and daunted her into meekly riding beside Philip without a 
word — only now and then he heard a low moan, and knew 
that she was weeping bitterly. 

At first the lad had been shocked beyond measure, and 
would have held aloof as from a kind of monster, but Mme. 
de Selinville had been the first woman to touch his fancy, 
and when he heard how piteously she was weeping, and 
recollected where he should have been but for her, as well 
as all his own harshness to her as a cowardly boy, he felt 
himself brutally ungrateful, and spoke: DoiiT weep so, 
madame; I am sorry I was rude to you, but you see, how 
should I take you for a woman 

Perhaps she heard, but she heeded not. 

“ My brother wfill take good care to shield you,^^ Philip 
added. He will take care you are safe in one of your 
nunneries;^" and as she only wept the more, he added, 
with a sudden thought, ‘‘You would not go there; you 
would embrace the Protestant faith?^^ 

“ I would embrace whatever was his.^^ 

Philip muttered something about seeing what could be 
done. They were already at the entrance of the village, 
and Berenger had come out to meet them, and, springing 
toward him, Philip exclaimed, in a low voice, “ Berry, she 


THE CHAPLET OE PEARLS. 


181 


would abjure her Popish errors! You cau^t give her up to 
a priest. 

“ Foolery, Philip/’ answered Berenger, sternly. 

“ If she would be a convert!” 

‘‘ Let her be a modest woman first;” and Berenger, tak- 
ing her bridle, led her to the priest’s house. 

He found that Pere Colombeau was preaching a Lent 
sermon, and that nobody was at home but the housekeeper, 
to whom he had explained briefly that the lady with him 
liad been forced to escape in disguise, had been nearly 
drowned, was in need of refreshment and female clothing. 
Jacinthe did not like the sound, but drenched clothes were 
such a passport to her master’s house, that she durst not 
refuse. Berenger carried off his other companions to the 
cabaret, and when he had dried himself, went to wait for 
the priest at the church-door, sitting in the porch, where 
more than one echo of the exhortation to repentance and 
purity rang in his ears, and enforced his conviction that 
here he mpst be cruel if he would be merciful. 

It was long before Pere Colombeau came out and then, 
if the scar had not blushed for all the rest of his face, the 
sickly, lanky lad of three years since would hardly have 
been recognized in the noble, powerful-looking young man 
who unbonneted to the good cure. But the priest’s aspect 
was less benignant when Berenger tried to set before him 
his predicament; he coldly asked where the unhappy lady 
was; and when Berenger expressed his intention of coming 
the next morning to ask his counsel, he only bowed. He 
did not ask the brothers to supper, nor ’ show any civility; 
and Berenger, as he walked back to the cabaret, perceived 
that his story was but half-believed, and that, if Diane’s 
passion were still stronger than her truth or generosity, 
she would be able to make out a terrible case against him, 
and to willing ears, naturally disposed against a youffg 
cavalier and a heretic. 

He sat much dispirited by the fire of the little wine 
shop, thinking that his forbearance had been well-nigh 
thrown away, and that his character would never be cleared 
in Eustacie’s eyes, attaching, indeed, more importance to 
the blot than would have been done by a youth less care- 
fully reared. 

It was quite dark when a knock came to the door; the 
cure’s white head appeared in the lamp-hght; he nodded 


182 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


kindly to all the guests, and entreated that M. de Ribau- 
inont would do him the favor to come and speak with him. 

No sooner were they outside the house, than the cure hel 
out his hand, saying, ‘‘ Sir, forgive me for a grievous in- 
justice toward you;’^ then pressing his hand, he added with 
a voice tremulous with emotion. “ Sir, it is no slight thing 
to have saved a wandering sheep by your uprightness and 
loyalty. 

“ Have youthen opened here yes, father?” said Berenger, 
relieved from a heavy load. . 

“ You have, my son,” said the old man. You have 
taught her what truth and virtue are. For the rest, you 
shall hear for yourself. ” 

Before Berenger knew where he was, a door was opened, 
and he found himself in the church. The building was al- 
most entirely dark; there were two tall lights at the altar 
in the distance, and a few little slender tapers burning be- 
fore certain niches and shrines, but without power to con- 
quer the gloom more than enough to spread a pale 
circle of yellow light beneath them, and. to show myste- 
riously a bit of vaulting above. A single lamp hung from 
an arch near the door, and beneath it, near a pillar, knelt 
or rather crouched on the floor a female figure with a 
dark peasant cloak drawn over her head. 

The first token of penitence is reparation to the in- 
jured,” said the priest. 

Berenger looked at him anxiously. 

“ I will not leave you, '’Hie added. “ See, I shall pray for' 
you yonder, by the altar,” and he slowly moved up the 
aisle. 

“ Rise, cousin, I entreat you,” said Berenger, much em- 
barrassed, as he disappeared in the darkness. 

“I must speak thus,” she answered, in a hoarse, ex- 
hausted voice. ‘‘Ah! pardon, pardon!” she added, rising, 
however, so far as to raise clasped hands and an imploring 
face. “Ah! can you pardon? It was through me that 
you bear those wounds; that she — Eustacie — was forced 
into the mask, to detain you for night. Ah! par- 
don. ” 

“ That is long past,” said Berenger. “ I have been too 
near death not to have pardoned that long ago. Rise, 
cousin, I can not see you thus. ” 

“ That is not all,” continued Diane. “ It was I — I who 

% 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


183 


moved my father to imprison you.^^ Then, as he bent liis 
head, and would have again entreated her to rise, she held 
out her hand as if to silence him, and spoke faster, more 
wildly. Then — then I thought it would save your life. 

I thought — she looked at him strangely with her great 
dark eyes, all hollow and cavernous in her white face. 

“ I know,^^ said Berenger, kindly, ‘‘ you often urged it 
on me.'’^ 

There was a sort of movement on the part of the kneel- 
ing figure of the priest at the altar, and she interrupted, 
saying precipitately, “ Then — then, I did think you free.'’*’ 

“Ah!^‘ he gasped. “Now — V’ 

“ Now I know that she lives and Diane once more 
sunk at his feet a trembling, shrinking, annihilated heap of 
shame and misery. 

Berenger absolutely gave a cry that, though instantly re- 
pressed, had the ring of ecstasy in it. “ Cousin — cousin 
he cried, ‘ all is forgiven — all forgotten, if you will only 
tell me where!’’ 

“ That I can not,” said Diane, rousing herself again, but 
speaking in a dull, indifferent tone, as of one to whom the 
prime bitterness was past, “ save that she is under the care 
of the Duchess de Quinet;^’ and she then proceeded, as 
though repeating a lesson: “ You remember the Italian 
conjurer whom you would not consult? Would that I had 
not?” she added, clasping her hands. “ His prediction 
lured me! Well, he saw my father privately, told him he 
had seen her, and had bought her jewels, even her hair. 
My father sent him in quest of her again, but told not me 
till the man returned with tidings that she was at Quinet, 
in favor with the duchess. You remember that he went 
from home. It was to demand her; and, ah! you know 
how long I had loved you, and they told me that your mar- 
riage was void, and that all would be well upon the dis- 
pensation coming. And now the good father there tells 
me that I vyas deceived — cruelly deceived — that such a dis- 
pensation would not be granted save through gross mis- 
representation. ” Then, as Berenger began to show tokens 
of eagerness to come at tidings of JEustacie, she continued, 
“ Ah! it is vain to seek to excuse one you care not for. 
My father could learn nothing from the duchess; she 
avowed that she had been there, but would say no more. 
IIowever,’>he and my brother were sure she- was under their 


184 


the chaplet of pearls. 


protection; they took measures, and — and the morning my 
poor father was stricken, there had been a letter from my 
brother to say he was on her track, ana matters must be 
ended with you, for he should have her in a week;^^ and 
then, as Berenger started forward with an inarticulate out- 
burst, half of horror, half of interrogation, she added, 
“ Where, he said not, nor did I learn from him. x\ll our 
one interview was spent in sneers that answered to my wild 
entreaties; but this I know — that you would never havd 
reached Tours a living man.'’^ 

“ And now, now he is on the way to her!” cried Beren- 
ger, ‘‘ and you kept it from me!” 

‘‘There lay my hope,^" said Diane, raising her head; 
and now, with glittering eyes and altered voice, “ How 
could I not but hate her who had bereaved me of you; her 
for whose sake I could not earn your love?” 

The change of her tone had, perhaps, warned the priest 
to draw nearer, and as she perceived him, she said, “ Yes, 
father, this is not the way to absolution, but my heart will 
burst if I say not all. ” 

“ Thou shalt not prevail, foul spirit,” said the priest, 
looking earnestly into the darkness, as though he beheld 
the fiend hovering over her, “ neither shall these holy walls 
be defiled with accents of unhallowed love. You have made 
your reparation, daughter; it is enough.” 

*“ And can you tell me no more?” said Berenger, sadly. 
“ Can you give me no clew that I may save her from the 
wolf that may be already on her track? Cousin, if you 
would do this, I would bless you forever.” 

“ Alas! I would if I could! It is true, -cousin, I have no 
heart to deceive you any longer. But it is to Madame de 
Quinet that you must apply, and if my brother has thought 
me worth pursuit, you may be in time! One moment,” as 
he would have sprung away as if in the impulse to fly to 
the rescue — “ cousin; had you gone to England as I 
hoped, I would have striven to deserve to win .that love of 
yours, but you have conquered by your constancy. Now, 
father, I have spoken my last save as penitent. ” 

She covered her head and sunk down again. 

Berenger, bewildered and impelled to be doing some- 
thing, let the priest lead him out before he exclaimed, “ I 
said nothing to her of pardon!” 

“ You do pardon?” said the priest. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


185 


He paused a moment. “Freely, if I find my wife. I 
can only remember now that she set me on the way. I 
would ease her soul, poor thing, and thinking would make 
me hard again. ’ 

“ Do the English bring up their sons with such feel- 
ings?^^ asked the cure, pausing for a moment. 

“ Of course, said Berenger. “ May I say that one word, 
sir?^^ 

“ Not now,^^ said the priest; “ she had better be left to 
think of her sin toward Heaven, rather than toward man.'’^ 

“But do you leave her there, sir?’^ 

“ I shall return. I shall pray for her true penitence,” 
said the priest, and Berenger perceived from his tone that 
one without the pale might inquire no further. He only 
asked how safe and honorable shelter could be found for 
her; and the cure replied that he had already spoken to 
her of the convent of Lucon, and should take her there so 
soon as it could safely be done, and that Abbess Monique, 
he trusted, would assist her crushed spirit in finding the 
path of penitence. He thought her cousin had better not 
endeavor to see her again; and Berenger himself was ready 
to forget her very existence in his burning anxiety to out- 
stri}) Narcisse ’in the quest of Eustacie. 


CHAPTER XLT. 

OUK LADY OF HOPE. 

Welcome to danger’s hour, 

Brief greeting serves the time of strife. 

Scott. 

As soon as it was possible to leave Nissard, Berenger 
was on his way back to head -quarters, where he hoped to 
meet the Duke de Quinet among the many Huguenot gen- 
tlemen who were flocking to the Bourbon standard; nor 
was he disai^pointed in the hope, for he was presented to a 
handsome middle-aged gentleman, who told him, with 
much politeness, that he was aware that his mother had 
liad the honor to receive and entertain Mme. de Ribau- 
mont, and that some months ago he had himself arranged 
for the conveyance of her letters to England, but, he said, 
with a smile, he made a point of knowing nothing of his 
mother's guests, lest his duties as a governor miglit clash 


186 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


with those of hospitality. He offered to expedite M. de 
Ribaumont’s journey to Quinet, observing that, if Nid-de- 
Merle were, indeed, on the point of seizing the lady, it 
must be by treachery; indeed he had, not ten days back, 
had the satisfaction of hanging an Italian mountebank who 
had last year stolen a whole packet of dispatches, among 
them letters from Mme. de Ribaumont, and the fellow was 
probably acting as a spy upon her, so that no time was to 
be lost in learning from his mother where she was. On the 
next morning he was about to send forward twenty men to 
re-enforce a little frontier garrison on the River Dronne, and 
as M. le Baron must pass through the place, it would be 
conferring a favor on him to take the command. The 
men were all well mounted, and would not delay; and 
when once across the frontier of Guyenne, no escort would 
be needed. 

Berenger gladly accepted the proposal. It did not occur 
to him that he was thus involved in the civil war, and bear- 
ing arms against the sovereign. In spite of Queen Eliza- 
bethans alliance with the French Court, she connived at her 
youthful subjects seeking the bubble reputation in the 
mouths of Valois cannon; and so little did Henry HI. seem 
to Berenger to be his king, that he never thought of the 
question of allegiance— nay, if the royal officers were truly 
concerned in his arrest, he was already an outlaw. This 
was no moment for decision between Catholic and Calvinist; 
all he wanted was to recover his wife and forestall her 
enemies. 

Henry of Havarre gave his full consent to the detach- 
ment being placed under charge of M. de Ribaumont. He 
asked somewhat significantly what had become of the young 
gentleman who had attended M. de Ribaumont, and Philip 
blushed crimson to the ears, while Berenger replied, with 
greater coolness than he had given himself credit for, that 
the youth had been nearly drowned on the Sables d’Olonne, 
and had been left at Horn ColombeaiPs to recover. The 
sharp-witted king looked for a moment rather as Sir Hugh 
the Heron did when Marmioii accounted for his page’s ab- 
sence, but was far too courteous and too inso^lcim^t to press 
the matter further, though Berenger saw quite enough of 
his expression to feel that he had been delivered from his 
companion only just in time. 

Berenger set forth as soon as his impatience could prevail 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


187 


to get the men into their saddles. lie would fain have 
ridden day and night/ and grudged every halt for refresh- 
ment, so as almost to run the risk of making the men 
mutinous. Evening was coming on, and his troop had dis- 
mounted at a cabaret, in front of which he paced up and 
down 'v^ith Philip, trying to devise some pretext for hasten-* 
ing them on another stage before night, when a weary, 
travel-stained trooper rode up to the door and was at once 
hailed as a comrade by the other men, and asked, ‘‘ What 
cheer at Pont de Dronne?^^ 

“ Bad enough/^ he answered, unless you can make the 
more speed there Then making obeisance to Berenger 
he continued his report, saying that Captain Falconnet was 
sending him to M. le Due with information that the 
Guisards were astir, and that five hundred gendarmes 
under the black Nid-de-Merle, as it was said, were on their 
way intending to surprise Pont de Dronne, and thus cut 
the King of Navarre olf from Guyeune and his kingdom 
beyond it. After this Berenger had no more difficulty with 
his men, who were most of them Quinet vassals, with 
homes south of the Dronne, and the messenger only halted 
for a hasty meal, hastening on to the duke, that a more 
considerable succor might at once be dispatched. 

Is she there whom they call the Lady of Hope?^^ asked 
one of the soldiers, a mercenary, less interested than most 
of his comrades, as he had only a fortnight since transferred 
his services from Guise to Quinet. 

‘‘ Our Lady of Sadness just now, replied the messenger; 

‘ ‘ her old father is at the point of death. However, she is 
there, and at our last siege twenty wine-skins would not so 
well have kept up men^s hearts."’ 

“And the little one, the white fairy, is she there too? 
They say "tis a spirit, a changeling that could not brook the 
inside of a cluirch, but flew out of the Moustier at Mon- 
tauban like a white swan, in the middle of a sermon.” 

“ I only know I’ve seen her sleep like a dormouse through 
prayers, sermon, and all at Pont de Dronne. Follette if 
she be, she belongs to the white elves of the moonlight.” 

“ Well, they say bullets won’t touch her, and no place 
can be taken where she is,” replied the trooper. “ Nay, 
that Italian peddler rogue, the same that the duke has since 
hung, has sold to long Gilles and snub-nosed Pierre silver 


188 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


bullets, wherewith they have sworn to shoot the one or the 
other next time they had a chance.^’’ 

These words were spoken at no great distance from 
Berenger, but passed by him as mere men-at-arms^ gossip, 
in his eagerness to expedite the start of his party; and in 
less than an hour they were en route for Pont de Dronne: 
but hasten as he would, it was not till near noon the next 
day that he came in sight of a valley, through which wound 
a river, crossed by a high-backed bridge, with a tall pointed 
arch in the middle, and a very small one on either side. 
An old building of red stone, looking like what it was— a 
monastery converted into a fortress — stood on the nearer, or 
northern bank, and on the belfry tower waved a flag with 
the arms of Quinet. Higher up the valley, there was an 
ominous hum, and clouds of smoke and dust; and the gen- 
darmes who knew the country rejoiced that they were 
come just in time, and exchanged anxious questions whether 
the enemy were not fording the river above them, so as to 
attack not only the fortress on this northern side, but the 
bridge tower on the southern' bank of the river. 

Spurring down the hill, the party were admitted, at the 
well-guarded gate- way, into a large thickly walled yard, 
where the soldiers and horses remained, and Berenger and 
Philip, passing through a small arched door-way into the 
body of the old monastery, were conducted to a great wain- 
scoted hall, where a pulpit projecting from the wall, and 
some defaced emblematic ornaments, showed that this had 
once been the refectory, though guard-room appliances now 
occupied it. The man who had shown them in left them, 
saying he would acquaint Captain Palconnet with their 
arrival, and just then a sound of singing drew both brothers 
to the window. It looked out on what had once been the 
quadrangle, bounded on three sides by the church, the 
refectory, and the monks^ lodgings, the cloistered arcade 
running round all these. The fourth side was skirted by 
the river, which was, however, concealed by an embank- 
ment, raised, no doubt, to supply the place of the wall, which 
had been unnecessary to the peaceful original inhabitants. 
What attracted BerengePs eyes was, however, a group in 
the cloister, consisting of a few drooping figures, some of 
men in steel caps, others of veiled, shrouded women, and 
strange, mingled feelings swept over him as he caught the 
notes of the psalm over the open grave— 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


189 


“ Si qii’en paix et seurte bonne 
Coucherai et reposerai — 

Oar, Seigneur, ta bonte tout ordonne 
Et elle seule espoir donne 
Que seiir et sain regnant serai.” 

“ Listen, Philip,^ ^ he said, with moistening eyes; then as 
they ended, “It is the Fourth Psalm: ‘ I lay me down in 
peace and take my rest.-' Eiistacie and I used to sing it to 
my father. It was well done in these mourners to sing it 
over him whom they are laying down to take his rest while 
the enemy are at the gates. See, the poor wife still kneels 
while the rest disperse; how dejected and utterly desolate 
she looks. 

He was so intently watching her as not to perceive the 
entrance of a tall, grizzled old man in a steel cap, evidently 
the commander of the garrison. There was the brief wel- 
come of danger's hour — the briefer, because Captain Fal- 
conne was extremely deaf, and, taking it for granted that 
the new-comers were gentlemen of the Duke's, proceeded 
to apj^oint them their, posts without further question. 
Berenger had intended to pursue his journey to Quinet 
without delay, but the intelligence that the enemy were on 
the southern as well as the northern side of the river ren- 
dered this impossible; and besides, in defending this key of 
Guyenne against Narcisse, he was also defending Eustacie. 

The state of alfairs was soon made known to him. The 
old monastery, covering with its walls an extensive space, 
formed a fortress quite strong enough to resist desultory 
attacks, and protect the long bridge, which was itself 
strongly walled on either side, and with a b^rbacan at the 
further end. In former assaults the attacks had always 
been on the north, the Catholtc side, as it might be called; 
but now the enemy had crossed the river above the fort, 
and w'ere investing the place on both sides. Long foresee- 
ing tliis, the old commandant had guarded the bank of the 
river with an earth-work, a long mound sloped irregularly 
on either hand, over which numerous little paths had since 
been worn by the women within, when on their way to the 
river with their washing; but he had been setting every 
one to work to destroy and fill up these, so that the ram- 
2'>art was smooth and sloping, perfectly easy indeed to cross, 
but high and broad enough to serve as an eft'ectual i)rotec- 
tioii against such artillery as the detached troops of the 


190 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


Guise party were likely to possess; and the river was far 
too wide, deep, and strong in its main current to be forded 
in the face of a hostile garrison. The captain had about 
fifty gendarmes in his garrison, besides the twenty new- 
comers whom he persisted in regarding as Berenger^s 
charge; and there were, besides,- some seventy peasants and 
silk spinners, who had come into the place as a refuge from 
the enemy — and with'these he hoped to hold out till succor 
should come from the duke. He himself took the command 
of the north gate, where the former assaults had been 
made, and he intrusted to his new ally the tower protecting 
the bridge, advising him to put on armor; but Berenger, 
trying on a steel cap, found that his head could not bear 
the weight and heat, and was forced to return to his broad- 
brimmed Spanish hat, while Philip in high glee armed liim- 
self as best he could with what Captain Falconnet could 
lend him. He was too much excited to eat of the scanty 
meal that was set before them: a real fight seemed like a 
fair-day to him, and he was greatly exalted by his brother's 
post of command — a post that Berenger felt a heavy re- 
sponsibility, only thrust upon him by the commandants in- 
capacity of hearing how utterly inexperienced he was. 

The formal summons to surrender to the king, and the 
refusal, had duly passed, and it became evident that the 
first atUck was to be on the bridge-gate. Captain Falcon- 
net hurried to the place, and the fighting was hot and des. 
perate. Every assailant who tried to throw his fagot infi 
the moat became a riiark for arquebuse or pistol, and th,'. 
weapons that had so lately hung over the hearth at Nid-de. 
Merle were now aimed again and again at the heads and 
corslets of Guisards, with something of the same exulting 
excitement as, only higher, *more engrossing, and fiercer 
than that with which the lads had taken aim at a wolf, or 
ridden after a fox. Scaling-ladders were planted and 
hurled down again; stones were cast from the battlements, 
crushing the enemy; and throughout Berenger ^s quick eye, 
alert movements, and great height and strength, made 
him a most valuable champion, often applauded by a low 
murmur of commendation from old Falconnet, or a loud 
shout of Ha, well done, the duke^s Englishman, from 
the gendarmes — for English they would have him to be 
— on the presumptions afforded by his companions, his 
complexion, and his slow speech. Nor did Philip and 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


191 


Humfrey fail to render good service. But just as the 
enemy had been foiled in a sharp assault and were dragging 
away their wounded, Philip touched his brother, and say- 
ing, ‘ ‘ I can hold out no longer, showed blood trickling 
down his right side. 

Berenger threw an arm round him, and Captain Falcon- 
net seeing his case, said, “You are hit, petit Anglais; 
you have done gallantly. There will be time for you to 
take him to his quarters, sir; these fellows have had enough 
for the present, and you can tarry with him till you hear 
the bugle. Whither, did you ask? Let me see. You, 
Benaud, take him to the chapel: the old chancel behind 
the boarding will be more private; and desire madame to 
look to him. Farewell! I hope it may prove slight; you 
are a brave youth. And he shook hands with Philip, 
whose intense gratification sustained him for many steps 
afterward. 

He hardly remembered receiving the hurt, and was at 
first -too busy to heed it, or to call off any one^s attention, 
until a dread of falling, and being trodden on, had seized 
him and made him speak; and indeed he was so dizzy that 
Berenger with difficulty kept him on his feet over tlie 
bridge, and in the court lifted him in his arms and carried 
him almost fainting into the cloister, where by the new- 
made grave still knelt the black- veiled mourner. She 
started to her feet as the soldier spoke to her, and seemed 
at first not to gather the sense of his words; but then, as if 
w'ith an effort, took them in, made one slight sound like 
a moan of remonstrance at the mention of the place, but 
again recollecting herself, led the way along a stone pas- 
sage, into which a flight of stairs descended into the a23sidal 
cbancel, roughly boarded off from the rest of the church. 
It was a ruinous, desolate place, and Berenger looked round 
in dismay for some place on which to lay down his almost 
unconscious burden. The lady bent her head and signed 
tow'ard the stone sedilia in the wall; then, after two in- 
effectual essays to make her voice audible, choked as it was 
with long weeping, she said, low and huskily: We will 
make him more comfortable soon;’^ and added some orders 
to the soldier, who disappeared up the stairway, and Beren- 
ger understood that he was gone to fetch bedding. Then 
taking from under her heavy mourning cloak a large ]niir 
of scissors, she signed to Berenger how to support his 


192 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


brother, while they relieved him of his corslet, sword-belt 
and doublet. The soldier had meantime returned with an 
old woman, both loaded with bedding, which she signed to 
them to arrange in one of the little bays or niches that 
served to form a crown of lesser chapels around the chan- 
cel. She flung aside her muffling cloak, but her black 
hood still hung far over her face, and every now and then 
hand or handkerchief was lifted as if to clear her eyes from 
the tears that would not cease to gather and blind her; and 
she merely spoke when some direction to an assistant, some 
sympathetic word to the patient, was needed. Even Philip 
in ids dizzy trance 'guessed that he was succeeding to the 
bed whence one much dearer had gone to his quieter rest 
in the cloister. Before he was laid there, however, the 
bugle sounded; there was a loud shout, and Ifliilip ex- 
claimed, “ Go, brother!"' 

“ Trust him to me, sir," said the sunken, extinguished 
voice; “ we will do our best for him. " 

He was forced merely to lift Philip to the bed, and to 
hurry away, while the soldier followed him saying, consol- 
ingly, “ Fear not, sir, now our Lady of Hope has him. 
Nothing goes ill to which she sets her hand." 

Another growl of artillery was now heard, and it was 
time for the warriors to forget the wounded in the exigencies 
of the present. An attack was made on both gates at once, 
and the commandant being engaged at his own post, Beren- 
ger had to make the utmost of his brief experience, backed 
by the counsel of a tough old sergeant: and great was his 
sense of exhilaration, and absolute enjoyment in this full 
and worthy taxing of every power of mind or body. The 
cry among the enemy, ‘‘ Aim at the black plume," attested 
his prominence; but the black plume was still unscathed 
when spring twilight fell. The din began to subside; re- 
calls were sounded by the besiegers; and Berenger heard his 
own exploit bawled in the ear of the deaf commandant, who 
was advancing over the bridge. The old captain compli- 
mented him, told him that he should be well reported of to 
M. le Hue and Sieur la None, and invited him to supper 
and bed in his own quarters. The supper Berenger ac- 
cepted, so soon as he should know how it was with his 
brother; but as to bed, he intended to watch his brother, 
and visit his post from time to time. 

The captain entered by the main door of the chapel. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


193 


where ten or twelve wounded were now lying, tended by 
peasant women. Berenger merely passed through, seeing 
as he went the black hood busy over a freshly brought in 
patient. He found a door which admitted him through the 
rough screen of boards to the choir where he had been in 
the earlier part of the day. The moonlight came through 
the shivered eastern windows, but a canvas curtain had 
been hung so as to shelter Philipps vaulted recess from the 
cold draught, and the bed itself, with a chair beside it, 
looked neat, clean and comfortable. Philip himself was 
cheery; he said the bullet had made a mere flesh-wound, 
and had passed out on the other side, and the Lady of Hope, 
as they called her, was just such another as Aunt Cecily, 
and had made him very comfortable, with clean linen, good 
cool drinks, and the' tenderest hand. But he was very 
sleepy, so sleepy that he hardly cared to hear of the com- 
bat, only he roused himself for a moment to say, “ Brother, 
I have seen Dolly. ” 

‘‘ Dolly 

“Our sister Dolly. 

“ Ah, Phil! many a strange visitor has come to me in the 
Walnut Chamber at home.^^ 

“ I tell you I was in my perfect senses, returned Philip; 
“ there she was, just as when we left her. And, what was 
stranger still, she talked French. 

“ Sleep and see her again, laughed Berenger. 


CHAPTER XLH. 

THE SILVER BULLET. 

I am all wonder, O my son! my soul 
Is stunned within me; powers to speak to him 
Or to interrogate him have I none, 

Or even to look on him. 

CowPER, Odyssey. 

Ih his waking senses Philip adhered to his story that his 
little sister Dolly had stood at the foot of his bed, called 
him “ le pauvfe” and had afterward disappeared, led away 
by the nursing lady. It seemed to Berenger a mere delu- 
sion of feverish weakness; for Philip had lost a great deal 
of blood, and the wound, though not dangerous, permitted 
no attempt at moving, and gave much pain. Of the per- 

7-2d lialf. 


194 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


fections of tlie lady as nurse and surgeon Philip could not 
say enough, and, pale and overwept as he allowed her to be, 
he declared that he was sure that her beauty must equal 
Mme. de Selinville^’s. Berenger laughed, and looking round 
this strange hospital, now lighted by the full rays of the 
morning sun, he was much struck by the scene. 

It was the chancel of the old abbey church. The door by 
which they had entered was very small, and perhaps had led 
merely to the abbot^s throne, as an irregularity for his own 
convenience, and only made manifest by the rending away 
of the rich wooden stall work, some fragments of which still 
clung to the walls. The east end, like that of many French 
churches, formed a semicircle, the high altar having been 
in the center, and five tall deep bays forming lesser chapels 
embracing it, their vaults all gathered up into one lofty 
crown above, and a slender pillar separating between each 
chapel, each of which further contained a tall narrow win- 
dow. Of course, all had been utterly desolated, and Philip 
was actually lying in one of these chapels, where the 
sculptured figure of St. John and his Eagle still remained 
on the wall; and a sufiicient remnant of his glowing 
sanguine robe of love was still in the window to serve as a 
shield from the Mse, The high altar of rich marbles was 
a mere heap of shattered rubbish; but what surprised 
Berenger more than all the ruined architectural beauty 
which his cinque-cento trained taste could not understand, 
was, that the tiles of the pavement were perfectly clean, 
and diligently swept, the rubbish piled up in corners; and 
here and there the relics of a cross or carved figure lay to- 
gether, as by a tender, reverential hand. Even the morsels 
of painted glass had been placed side by side on the fioor, 
so as to form a mosaic of dark red, blue, and green; and a 
child^s toy lay beside this piece of patch-work. In the midst 
of his observations, however. Captain EalconnePs servant 
came to summon him to breakfast; and the old woman ap- 
pearing at the same time, he could not help asking whether 
the lady were coming. ^ 

“ Oh yes, she will come to dress his wound in good time,^^ 
answered the old woman. 

“ And when? I should like to hear what she thinks of 
it,"’"’ said Berenger. 

“ How?’^ said the old woman, with a certain satisfaction 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


195 


ill his disappointment; “ is our Lady of Hope to be coming 
down among you gay gallants?^^ 

‘‘ But who is this Lady of Hope?^^ demanded he. 

“ Who should she be but our good pastor daughter? 
Ah! and a brave, good daughter she was too, abiding the 
siege because his breath was so bad that he could not be 
mcved.^^ 

What was his name?^^ asked Berenger, attracted 
strangely by what he heard. 

‘‘ Ribault, monsieur — Pasteur Eibault. Ah! a good 
man, and sound preacher, when preach he could; but when 
he could not, his very presence kept the monks^ revenants 
from vexing us — as a cat keeps mice away; and, ah! the 
children have been changed creatures since madame dealt 
with them. What! monsieur would know why they call 
her our Lady of Hope? Esperance is her true name; and, 
moreover, in the former days this abbey had an image that 
they called Notre-Dame de PEsperance, and the poor de- 
ceived folk thought it did great miracles. And so, when 
she came hither, and wrought such cures, and brought 
blessings wherever she went, it became a saying among us 
that at length we had our true Lady of Hope.^^ 

A more urgent summons here forced Berenger away, 
and his repetition of the same question received much the 
same answer from deaf old Captain Falconnet. He was 
obliged to repair to his post with merely a piece of bread in 
his hand; but, though vigilance was needful, the day bade 
fair to be far less actively occupied than its predecessor: the 
enemy were either disposed to turn the siege into a block- 
ade, or were awaiting re-enforcements and heavier artillery; 
and there were only a few desultory attacks in the early 
part of the morning. About an hour before noon, however, 
the besiegers seemed to be drawing out in arms, as if to re- 
ceive some person of rank, and at the same time sounds 
were heard on the hills to the eastward, as if troops were 
on the march. Berenger having j ust been told by the old 
sergeant that probably all would be quiet ’for some time 
longer, and been almost laughed at by the veteran for con- 
sulting him whether it would be permissible for him to be 
absent a few minutes to visit his brother, was setting out 
across the bridge for the purpose, his eyes in the direction 
of the rampart, which followed the curve of the river. The 
paths which — as has been said — the feet of the washerwom- 


196 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


en and drawers of water had worn away in quieter times, 
had been smoothed and scarped away on the outer side, so 
as to come to an abrupt termination some feet above the 
gay marigolds, coltsfoot, and other spring flowers that 
smiled by the water- side. Suddenly he beheld on the ram- 
part a tiny gray and white figure, fearlessly trotting, or 
rather dancing, along the summit, and the men around 
him exclaimed, “•The- little moonbeam child “ A fairy 
— a changeling “ They can not shoot at such a babe 

“ Nor could they harm her!’*’ “ Hola! little one! Garel 

go back to your mother I’-* “ Do not disturb yourself, sir; 

she is safer than you, were the ejaculations almost at the 
same moment, while he sprung forward, horrified at the 
peril of such an infant. He had reached the angle between 
the bridge and rampart, when he perceived that neither 
humanity nor superstition was protecting the poor child ; 
for, as she turned down the remnant of one of the treacher- 
ous little paths, a man in bright steel and deep black had 
spurred his horse to the river’s brink, and was deliberately 
taking aim at her. Furious at such brutality, Berenger 
fired the pistol he held in his hand, and the wretch dropped 
from his horse; but at the same moment his pistol exploded, 
and the child rolled dot^n the bank, whence a piteous wail 
came up, impelling Berenger to leap down to her assistance, 
in the full face of the enemy. Perhaps he was protected 
for the moment by the confusion ensuing on the fall of the 
officer; and when he reached the bottom of the bank, he 
saw the little creature on her feet, her round cap and gray 
woolen dress stripped half off in the fall, and her flaxen 
hair falling round her plump, white, exposed shoulder, but 
evidently unhurt, and gathering yellow marigolds as com- 
posedly as though she had been making May garlands. He 
snatched her up, and she said, with the same infantine 
dignity, Yes, take me up; the naughty people spoiled 
the path. But I must take my beads first.” And she 
tried to struggle out of his arms, pointing therewith to a 
broken string among the marshy herbage on which gleamed 
— the pearls of Ribaumont! 

In the few seconds in which he grasped them, and then 
bore the child up the embankment in desperate bounds, a 
hail of bullets poured round him, ringing on his breast- 
plate, shearing the plume from his hat, but scarcely even 
heard; and in another moment he had sprung down, on the 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


197 


inner side, grasping the child with all his might, but not 
daring even to look at her, in the wondrous flash of that 
first conviction. She spoke first. ‘‘ Put me down, and let 
me have my beads,'’’ she said in a grave, clear tone; and 
then first he beheld a pair of dark-blue eyes, a sweet wild- 
rose face — Dolly’s all over. He pressed her so fast and so 
close, in so speechless and overpowering an ecstasy, that 
again she repeated, and in alarm, ‘‘ Put me down, I want 
my mother!” 

“ Yes, yes! your mother! your mother! your mother!” 
he cried, unable to let her out of his embrace; and then 
restraining himself as he saw her frightened eyes, in abso- 
lute fear of her spurning him, or struggling from him, 
“ My sweet! my child! Ah! do you not know me?” 
Then, remembering how wild this was, he struggled to 
speak calmly: “ What are you called, my treasure?” 

“I am la 'petite Rayonette/^ she said, with puzzled 
dignity and gravity; and my mother says I have a beau- 
tiful long name of my own besides.” 

‘ ‘ Berengere — my Berengere — ’ ’ 

‘‘ That is what she says over me, as I go to sleep in her 
bosom at night,” said the child, in a wondering voice, soon 
exchanged for entreaty, ‘‘ Oh, hug me not so hard! Oh, 
let me go — let me go to her! Mother! mother!” 

‘‘My child, mine own, I am taking thee! — Oh, do not 
struggle with me!” he cried, himself imploring now. 

Child, one kiss for thy father;” and meantime, putting 
absolute force on his vehement affection, he was hurrying 
to the chancel. 

There Philip hailed them with a shout as of desperate 
anxiety relieved; but before, a word could be uttered, down 
the stairs flew the Lady of Hope, crying wildly, “Not 
there — she is not — ” but perceiving the little one in the 
stranger’s arms, she held out her own, crying, “Ah! is 
she hurt, my angel?” 

“Unhurt, Eustacie! Our child is unhurt!” Berenger 
said, with an agonized endeavor to be calm; but for the 
moment her instinct was so entirely absorbed in examining 
into the soundness of her child’s limbs, that she neither 
saw nor heard anything else. 

“ Eustacie,” he said, laying his hand on her arm. She 
started back, with bewildered eyes. “ Eustacie— wife! do 
you not know me? Ah! I forgot that I am changed.” 


198 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


“ You — you — she gasped, utterly confounded, and 
gazing as if turned to stone, and though at that moment 
the vibration of a mighty discharge of cannon rocked the 
walls, and strewed Philip’s bed with the crimson shivers of 
St. John’s robe, yet neither of them would have been sen- 
sible of it had not Humfrey rushed in at the same moment, 
crying, “ They are coming on like fiends, sir!” 

Berenger passed his hand over liis face. ‘‘ You will 
know me when — if I return, my dearest,” he said. ‘^If 
not, then still, thank God! Philip, to you I trust them!” 

And with one kiss on that still, cold, almost petrified 
brow, he had dashed away. There was a space of absolute- 
ly motionless silence, save that Eustacie let herself drop on 
the chancel step, and the child, presently breaking the 
spell, pulled her to attract her notice to the flowers. 
“Mother here are the soucis for the poor gentleman’s 
broth. See, the naughty people had spoiled aU the paths, 
and I rolled down and tore my frock, and down fell the 
beads, but be not angry, mother dear, for the good gentle- 
man picked them up, and carried me up the bank.” 

“ The bank!” cried Eustacie, with a scream, as the sense 
of the words reached her ears. “Ah! no wonder! Well 
might thy danger bring thy father’s spirit;” and she 
grasped the little one fervently in her arms, murmuring, 
“ Thank, thank God, indeed! Oh! my precious one; and 
did He send that blessed spirit to rescue thee?” 

“ And will you tie up my frock, and may I put the flow- 
ers into the broth?” chattered Rayonette. “ And why did 
he kiss me and hug me so tight; and how did he know what 
you say over me as we fall asleep?” 

Eustacie clasped her tighter, with a convulsive shudder 
of thankfulness; and Philip, but half hearing, and barely 
gathering the meaning of her mood, ventured to speak, 
“ Madame—” 

As if touched by an electric shock, Eustacie started up, 
as recalled to instant needs, and coming toward him said, 
“ Do you want anything, sir? Pardon one who has but 
newly seen a spirit from the other world — brought by his 
child’s danger.” And the dazed, trance-like look was re- 
turning. 

“ Spirit!” cried Philip. “ Nay, niadame, it was him- 
self. Ah! and you are she whom we have sought so long; 
and this dear child — no wonder she has Dolly’s face. ” 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


199 


‘"Who — what?^^ said Eustacie, pressing her temples 
with her hands, as if to retain her senses. “ Speak; was 
yonder a living or dead man — and who?^-’ 

“ Living, thank God! and your own husband; that is, .if 
you are really Eustacie. Are you indeed he added, be- 
coming doubtful. 

“ Eustacie, that am 1 /^ she murmrued. “But he is 
dead — they killed him; I saw the blood where he had wait- 
ed for me. His child’s danger brought him from the grave. ’ ’ 

“ No, no. Look at me, sister Eustacie. Listen to me. 
Osbert brought him home, more dead than alive — but alive 
still. ” 

“No!” she cried, half passionately. “ Never could he 
have lived and left me to mourn him so bitterly.” 

“ If you knew — ” cried Philip, growing indignant. “ For 
weeks he lay in deadly lethargy, and when, with his left 
hand, he wrote and sent Osbert to you, your kinsfolk threw 
the poor fellow into a dungeon, and put us off with lies 
that you were married to your cousin. All believed, only 
he — sick, helpless, speechless, as he was — ^he trusted you 
still; and so soon as Mericour came, though he could 
scarcely brook the saddle, nothing would hold him from 
seeking you. We saw only rum at La Sablerie, and well- 
nigh ever since have we been clapped up in prison by your 
uncle. We were on the way to Quinet to seek you. He 
has kept his faith whole through wounds and pain and prison 
and threats — ay, and sore temptation,” cried Philip, wax- 
ing eloquent; “ and, oh, it can not be that you do not care 
for him!” 

“ Doubt not my faith, sir,” said Eustacie, proudly; “ I 
have been as true to him as if I had known he lived. Nor 
do I know who you are to question me.” 

At this moment the child pressed forward, holding be- 
tween her two careful plump hands a red earthenware bowl, 
with the tisane steaming in it, and the yellow petals strewn 
over the surface. She and Philip had taken a great fancy 
to each other, and while her mother was busy with the 
other patients, she had been left to her quiet play with her 
fragments of glass, which she carried one by one to display, 
held up to the light, to her new friend; who, in his weak 
state, and after his long captivity, found her the more 
charming playmate because she so strangely reminded him 
of his own little sisters. She thought herself his little 


200 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


nurse, and missing from his broth the yellow petals that 
she had been wont to think the charm of tisane, the house- 
wifely little being had trotted off, unseen and unmissed, 
across the quadrangle, over the embankment, where she 
had often gathered them, or attended on the “ lessive ” on 
the river^s brink; and now she broke forth exultingly, 
“ Here, here is the tisane, with all the soucis. Let me 
feed you with them, sir/^ 

“ Ah! thou sweet one,^^ gasped Philip, I could as soon 
eat them as David could drink the water! For these — for 
these — V* and the tears rushed into his eyes. Oh! let 
me but kiss her, madame; I loved her from the first mo- 
ment. She has the very face of my little sister — my little 
sister and Berenger^s. What, thou little sweeting (what 
French word is good enough for her?) didst run into peril 
for me, not knowing how near I was to thee? What, must 
I eat it? Love me then. ” 

But the boarded door was thrown back, and “ Madame, 
more wounded,^ ^ resounded. The thrill of terror, the 
elastic reaction, at the ensuing words, from the north 
gate,^^ was what made Eustacie in an instant know herself 
to be not widow but wife. She turned round at once, hold- 
ing out her hand, and saying with a shaken, agitated voice, 
“ Mon frere, pardon me, I know not what I say; and, after 
all, he will find me hien mechante still.'’'’ Then as Philip 
devoured her hand with kisses, and held it fast, ‘‘ I must 
go; these^poor men need me. When I can, I will return. '’ ^ 

“ Only let me have the little one,’^ entreated Philip; “ it 
is almost home already to look at her. 

And when Eustacie next looked in on them, they were 
both fast asleep. 

She, poor thing, the only woman with brains among the 
many scared females in the garrison, might not rest or look 
the wonder in the face. Fresh sufferers needed her care, 
and related gallant things of “the duke’s Englishman,” 
tilings of desperate daring and prowess that sent the blood 
throbbing to her heart with exultation, but only to be fol- 
lowed by a pang of anguish at having let him go back to 
peril — nay, perhaps, to death — without a word of tenderness 
or even recognition. She imaged him as the sunny-faced 
youth who had claimed her in the royal castle, and her 
longing to be at his side and cling to him as his own became 
every moment more fervent and irresistible, until she glad- 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


201 


ly recollected the necessity of carryiag food to the defend- 
ers; and snatching an interval from her hospital cares, she 
sped to the old circular kitchen of the monastery, where 
she found the lame baker vainly trying to organize a party 
of frightened women to carry provisions to the garrison of 
the bridge-tower. 

“ Give some to me/^ she said. “ My husband is there! 
I am come to fetch his dinner. ” 

The peasant women looked and whispered as if they 
thought that, to add to their misfortunes, their Lady of 
Hope had become distracted by grief; and one or two, who 
held the old faith, and were like the crane among the spar- 
rows, even observed that it was a judgment for the profane 
name that had been given her, against which she had her- 
self uniformly protested. 

‘‘ My husband is come,^^ said Eustacie, looking round 
with shining eyes. ‘ ‘ Let us be brave wives, and not let 
our men famish. ^ ' 

She lifted up a loaf and a pitcher of broth, and with the 
latter poised on her erect and graceful head, and elastic 
though steady step, she led the way; the others following 
her with a sort of awe, as of one they fancied in a super- 
human state. In fact, there was no great danger in trav- 
ersing the bridge with its lofty parapet on either side; and 
her mind was too much exalted and moved to be sensible 
of an3dhing but a certain exulting awe of the battle sounds. 
There was, however, a kind of lull in the assault which had 
raged so fiercely ever since the fall of the officer, and the 
arrival of the re-enforcements. Either the enemy had 
paused to take food, or were devising some fresh mode of 
attack; and as the line of women advanced, there started 
forth from under the arch a broad-shouldered, white-faced, 
golden-bearded personage, who cried joyously, ‘‘ My dear- 
est, my bravest! this for me!'’^ and lifted the pitcher from 
her head as he grasped her hand with a fiesh-and-blood 
clasp indeed, but the bright-cheeked, wavy-haired lad of 
her dream withered away with a shock of disappointment, 
and she only looked up with wistful puzzled earnestness in- 
stead of uttering the dear name that she had so long been 
whispering to herself. ‘‘ Dearest,"" he said, “ this is pre- 
cious indeed to me, that you should let me feast my eyes 
once more on you. But you may not tarry. The rogues 
may renew their attack at any moment. "" 


202 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


She had thought of herself as insisting on standing be- 
side him and sharing his peril. Had he been himself, she 
must have done so, but this was a stranger, whose claim- 
ing her made her shrink apart till she could feel the iden- 
tity which, though she believed, she could not realize. Her 
hand lay cold- and tremulous within his warm pressure, but 
he was too much wrought up and too full of joy and haste 
to be sensible of anything but of the brave affection that 
had dared all to come to him; and he was perfectly happy, 
even as a trumpet-call among the foe warned him to press 
her fingers to his lips and say, as his bright blue eye 
kindled: ‘‘God grant that we may meet and thank Him 
to-night! Farewell, my lost and found! I fight as one 
who has something to fight for.^^ 

He might not leave his post, but he watched her vdth 
eyes that could not be satiated, as she recrossed the bridge; 
and, verily, his superabundant ecstasy, and the energy that 
was born of it, were all needed to sustain the spirits of his 
garrison through that terrible afternoon. The enemy 
seemed to be determined to carry the place before it could 
be relieved, and renewed the storm again and again with 
increasing violence; while the defenders, disheartened by 
their pertinacity, dismayed at the effects of the heavy ar- 
tillery, now brought to bear on the tower, and direfully 
afraid of having the bridge destroyed, would have aban- 
doned their barbican and shut themselves up within the body 
of the place had not Berenger been here, there, and every- 
where, directing, commanding, exhorting, cheering, en- 
couraging, exciting enthusiasm by word and example, win- 
ning proud admiration by feats of valor and dexterity 
sprung of the ecstatic inspiration of new-found bliss, and 
watching, as the conscious defender of his own most be- 
loved, without a moment^s respite, till twilight stillness 
sunk on the enemy, and old Falconnet came to relieve him, 
thanking him for his gallant defense, and auguring that, 
by noonday to-morrow at latest, M. le Due would succor 
them, unless he ’^ere hampered by any folly of this young 
Navarre. 

Too blissful for the sense of fatigue, Berenger began to 
impart to the commandant his delight, but the only answer 
he got was “ Hope, yes, every hope;^^ and he again recog- 
nized what he had already perceived, that the indistincc- 
ness of his utterance made him entirely unintelligible to 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


203 


the deaf commandant, and that shouting did but proclaim 
to the whole garrison, perhaps even to the enemy ^s camp, 
what was still too new a joy not to be a secret treasure of 
delight. So he only wrung the old captain^s hand, and 
strode away as soon as he was released. 

It was nearly dark, in spite of a rising moon, but be- 
neath the cloister arch was torch-light, glancing on a steel 
head-piece, and on a white cap, both bending down over a 
prostrate figure; and he heard the voice he loved so well 
say, ‘‘ It is over! I can do no more. It were best to dig 
his grave at once here in silence — it will discourage the peo- 
ple less. Eenaud and Armand, here!^^ 

He paused for a few minutes unseen in the shadow while 
she closed the eyes and composed the limbs of the dead sol- 
dier; then, kneeling, said the Lord's Prayer in French over 
him. Was this the being he had left as the petted play- 
thing of the palace? When she rose, she came to the arch 
and gazed wistfully across the moonlit quadrangle, beyond 
the dark shade cast by the buildings, saying to the soldier, 
“You are sure he was safe?" 

“My Eustacie," said Ber-enger, coming forward, “we 
meet in grave times!" 

The relief of knowing him safe after the sickening yearn- 
ings and suspense of the day, and moreover the old ring of 
tenderness in his tone, made her spring to him with real 
warmth of gladness, and cry, “ It is you! All is well." 

“ Blessedly well, ma mie, my sweetheart," he said, throw- 
ing his arm-round her, and she rested against him mur- 
muring, “ Now I feel it! Thou art thyself!" They were 
in the dark cloister passage, and when he would have moved 
forward she clung closer to him, and murmured, “ Oh, 
wait, wait, yet an instant. Thus I can feel that I have 
thee — the same— my own!" 

“ My poor darling," said Berenger, after a second, “ you 
must learn to bear with both my looks and speech, though 
I be but a sorry shattered fellow for you." 

“ No, no," she cried, hanging on him with double fervor. 

“ No, I am loving you the more already — doubly — treb- 
ly — a thousand times. Only those moments were so 
precious, they made all these long years as nothing. But 
come to the little one, and to your brother." 

The little one had already heard them, and was starting 
forward to meet them, though daunted for a moment by 


204 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


the sight of the strange father; she stood on the pavement, 
in the full flood of the moonlight from the east window, 
which whitened her fair face, flaxen hair, and gray dress, 
so that she did truly look like some spirit woven of the 
moonbeams. Eustacie gave a cry of satisfaction: “Ah, 
good, good; it was by moonlight that I saw her first 

Berenger, took her in his arms, and held her to his breast 
with a sense of insatiable love, while Philip exclaimed, 
“ Ay, well may you make much of her, brother. Well 
might you seek them far and wide. Such treasures are 
not to be found in the wide world.'’' 

Berenger, without answering, carried the little one to the 
step of the ruined high altar, and there knelt, holding Eus- 
tacie by the hand, the child in one arm, and, with the moon 
glancing on his high white brovv^ and earnest face, he spoke 
a few words of solemn thanks and prayer for a blessing on 
their reunion, and the babe so wonderfully preserved to 
them. 

Not till then did he carry her into the lamp-light by Phil- 
ip's bed, and scan therein every feature, to satisfy his eyes 
with the fulfilled hope that had borne him through those 
darkest days, when, despairing of the mother, the thought 
of the child had still sustained him. to throw his will into 
the balance of the scale between life and death. Little 
Berengere gazed up into his face silently, with wondering, 
grave, and somewhat sleepy eyes and then he saw them fix 
themselves on his powder-grimed and blood-stained hands. 
“ Ah! little heart," he said, “ I am truly in no state to 
handle so pure a piece of sugar as thou ; I should have rid 
myself of the battle-stains ere touching thee, but how recol- 
lect anything at such a moment?" 

Eustacie was glad he had broken the spell of silence; for 
having recovered her husband, her first instinct was to wait 
upon him. She took the child from him, explaining that 
she was going to put her to bed in her own rooms up the 
stone stair, which for the present were filled with the fugi- 
tive women and children who had come in from the coun- 
try, so that the chancel must continue the lodging of Be- 
renger and his brother; and for the time of her absence she 
brought him water to wash away the stains, and set before 
him the soup she had kept warm over her little charcoal 
brazier. It was only when thus left that he could own, in 
answer to Philip's inquiries, that he could feel either hunger 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


205 


or weariness; nay, lie would only acknowledge enougli of 
the latter to give a perfect charm to rest under such au- 
spices. Eustacie had dispatched her motherly cares promptly 
enough to be with him again just as in taking olf his corslet 
he had found that it had been pierced by a bullet, and pur- 
suing the trace, through his doublet, he found it lodged in 
that purse which he had so long worn next his heart, where 
it had spent its force against the single pearl of Ribaumont. 
And holding it up to the light, he saw that it was of silver. 
Then there returned on him and Philip the words they had 
heard two days before, of silver bullets forged for the de- 
struction of the white moonlight fairy, and he further re- 
membered the moment^s shock and blow that in the midst 
of his wild amaze on the river^s bank had made him gather 
his breath and strength to bound desperately upward, lest 
the next moment he should find himself wounded and 
powerless. 

For the innocent, then, had the shot been intended; and, 
she running into danger out of her sweet, tender instincts 
of helpfulness, had been barely saved at the extreme peril 
of her unconscious father^s life. Philip, whose vehement 
affection for the little one had been growing all day, was in 
the act of telling Berenger to string the bullet in the place 
of the injured pearl, as the most precious heir-loom of 
Ribaumont bravery, when Eustacie returned, and learning 
all, grew pale and shuddered as danger had never made her 
do before: but this strange day had almost made a coward 
of her. 

‘‘ And this it has spared/^ said Berenger, taking out the 
string of little yellow shells. ‘‘ Dost know them, sweet- 
heart? They have been my chaplet all this time.""’ 

“ Ah!^^ cried Eustacie, “ poor, good Mademoiselle 
^N'oemi ! she threaded them for my child, when she was very- 
little. Ah I could she have given them to you — could it 
then not have been true — that horror?’^ 

“ Alas! it was too true. I found these shells in the 
empty cradle, in the burned house, and deemed them all I 
should ever have of my babe. 

‘‘ Poor Noemi! poor Noemi! She always longed to be a 
martyr; but we fled from her, and the fate we had brought 
on her. That was the thought that preyed on my dear 
father. He grieved so to have left his sheep— and it was 
only for my sake. Ah! I have brought evil on all who 


206 


THE CHAPLET OP PEARLS. 


have been good to me, beginning with you. You had bet- 
ter cast me olf, or I shall bring yet worse 
Let it be so, if we are only together."’^ 

He drew her to him and she laid her head on his shoul- 
der, murmuring, Ah! father, father, were you but here 
to see it. So desolate yesterday, so ineffably blessed to-day. 
Oh! I can not even grieve for him now, save that he could 
not just have seen us; yet I think he knew it would be so. 

“ Nay, it may be that he does see us,^^ said Berenger. 

Would that I had known who it was whom you were lay- 
ing down ‘ en paix et seiirte bonne As it was, the psalm 
brought precious thoughts of Chateau Leurre, and the lit- 
tle wife who was wont to sing it with me. 

“ Ah!^’ said Eustacie, “ it was when he sung those words 
as he was about to sleep in the ruin of the Temple, that 
first I — cowering there in terror — knew him for no Tem- 
plar^s ghost, but for a friend. That story ended my worst 
desolation. That night he became my father; the next my 
child came to me!^^ 

“ My precious treasure! Ah! what you must have 
undergone, and I all unknowing, capable of nothing wiser 
than going out of my senses, and raging in a fever because 
I could convince no one that those were all lies about your 
being aught but my true and loving wife. But tell me, 
what brought thee hither to be the tutelary patron, where, 
but for the siege, I had overpassed thee on the way to 
Quinet?’" 

Then Eustacie told him how the Italian peddler had 
stolen her letters, and attempted to poison her child — the 
peddler whom he soon identified with that wizard who had 
talked to him of ‘‘ Esperance,^^ until the cue had evidently 
been given by the chevalier. Soon after the duke had dis- 
patched a messenger to say that the Chevalier de Ribau- 
mont was on the way to demand his niece; and as it was a 
period of peace, and the law was decidedly on his side, 
Mme. de Quinet would be unable to offer any resistance. 
She therefore had resolved to send Eustacie away — not to 
any of the seaports whither the uncle would be likely to 
trace her, but absolutely to a place which he would have 
passed through on his journey into Guyenne. The Mon- 
astery of Notre-Dame de BEsperance at Pont de Dronne 
had been cruelly devastated by the Huguenots in order to 
form a fortress to command the passage of the river, and a 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


207 


garrison haa been placed there, as well as a colony of silk- 
spinners, attracted by the mulberry-trees of the old abbey 
garden. These, however, having conceived some terror of 
the ghosts of the murdered mon&, had entreated for a pas- 
tor to protect them; and Mme. la Duchesse thought that 
in this capacity Isaac Garton, known by one of the many 
aliases to which the Calvinist ministers constantly resorted, 
might avoid suspicion for the present. She took the perse- 
cuted fugitives for some stages in an opposite direction, in 
her own coach, then returned to face and baffle the cheva- 
lier, while her trusty steward, by a long detour, conducted 
them to Pont de Dronne, which they reached the very 
night after the chevalier had returned through it to Nid- 
de-Merle. 

The pastor and his daughter were placed under the spe- 
cial protection of Captain Falconnet, and the steward had 
taken care that they should be well lodged in three rooms 
that had once been the abboPs apartments.- Their stay 
had been at first intended to be short, but the long journey 
had been so full of suffering to Isaac, and left such serious 
effects, that Eustacie could not bear to undertake it again, 
and Mme, de Quinet soon perceived that she was safer 
there than at the chateau, since strangers were seldom ad- 
mitted to the fortress, and her presence there attracted no 
attention. But for Isaac Gardon^s declining health, Eus- 
tacie would have been much happier here than at the cha- 
teau; the homely housewifely life, where all depended on 
her, suited her; and, using her lessons in domestic arts of 
nursing and medicine for the benefit of her father^s fiock, 
she had found, to her dismay, that the simple people, in 
their veneration, had made her into a sort of successor to 
the patroness of the convent. Isaac had revived enough 
for a time to be able to conduct the worship in the church, 
and to instruct some of his flock; but the teaching of the 
young had been more and more transferred to her, and, as 
she ingenuously said, had taught her more than she ever 
knew before. He gradually became weaker through more 
suffering, and was absolutely incapable of removal, when 
an attack by the Guisards was threatened. Eustacie might 
have been sent back to Quinet; but she would not hear of 
leaving him; and this first had been a mere slight attack, 
as if a mere experiment on the strength of the place. 8he 
had, however, then had to take the lead in controlling the 


308 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


women, and teaching them to act as nurses, and to carry 
out provisions; and she must then have been seen by some 
one, who reported her presence there to Narcisse — perhaps 
by the Italian peddler. Indeed Humfrey, who came in for 
a moment to receive his master^s ordei-s, report his watch, 
and greet his lady, narrated, on the authority of the lately 
enlisted men-at-arms, that M. de Nid-de- Merle had prom- 
ised twenty crowns to any one who might shoot down the 
heretics^ little white diablesse. 

About six weeks had elapsed since the first attack on 
Pont de Dronne, and in that time Garden had sunk rapid- 
ly. He died as he lived, a gentle, patient man, not a char- 
acteristic Calvinist, though his lot had been thrown with 
that party in his perplexed life of truth-seeking and disap- 
pointment in the aspirations and hopes of early youth. He 
had been, however, full of peace and trust that he should 
open his eyes where the light was clear, and no cloud on 
either side would mar his perception; and his thankfulness 
had been great for the blessing that his almost heaven-sent 
daughter had been to him in his loneliness, bereavement, 
and decay. Much as he loved her, he did not show himself 
grieved or distressed on her account; but, as he told her, 
he took the summons to leave her as a sign that his task 
was done, and the term of her trials ended. “ I trust as 
fully, he. said, “ that thou wilt soon be in safe and losring 
hands, as though I could commit thee to them. '-’ 

And so he died in her arms, leaving her a far fuller 
measure of blessing and of love than ever she had derived 
from her own father; and as the enemy^s trumpets were 
already sounding on the^ hills, she had feared insult to his 
remains, and had procured his almost immediate burial in 
the cloister, bidding the assistants sing, as his farewell, that 
evening psalm which had first brought soothing to her 
hunted spirit. 

There, while unable, after hours of weeping, to tear her- 
self from the grave of her father and protector, had she in 
her utter desolation been startled by the summons, not only 
to attend to the wounded stranger, but to lodge him in the 
chancel. “ Only this was wanting,"" was the first thought 
in her desolation, for this had been her own most cherished 
resort. Either the Use, or fear of a haunted spot, or both, 
had led to the nailing up of boards over the dividing screen, 
so that the chancel was entirely concealed from the church; 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


209 


and no one ever thouglit of setting foot there till Eiistacie, 
whose Catholic reverence was indestructible, even when she 
was only half sure that it was not worse than a foible, had 
stolen down thither, grieved at its utter desolation, and 
with fond and careful hands had cleansed it, and amended 
the ruin so far as she might. She had no other place where 
she was sure of being uninterrupted; and here had been 
her oratory, where she daily prayed, and often came to hide 
her tears and rally her spirits through that long attendance 
on her fatherly friend. It had been a stolen pleasure. 
Her reverent work there, if once observed, would have been 
treated as rank idolatry; and it was with consternation as 
well as grief that she found, by the captain^s command, 
that this, her sanctuary and refuge, was to be invaded by 
strange soldiers! Little did she think — ! 

And thus they sat, telling each other all, on the step of 
the ruined chapel, among the lights and shadows of the 
apse. How unlike the stately Louvre's halls of statuary 
and cabinets of porcelain, or the Arcadian groves of Mont- 
pipeau! and yet how little they recked that they were in a 
beleaguered fortress, in the midst of ruins, wounded suffer- 
ers all around, themselves in hourly jeopardy. It was 
enough that they had one another. They were so supreme- 
ly happy that their minds unconsciously gathered up those 
pale lights and dark fantastic shades as adjuncts of their 
bliss. 


CHAPTER XLIH. 

LE BAISER d'EUSTACIE. 

No pitying voice, no eye, affords 
One tear to grace his obsequies. 

Gray. 

Golden sunshine made rubies and sapphires of the frag- 
ments of glass in the windows of Notre Lame de I'Esper- 
ance, and lighted up the brown face and earnest eyes of the 
little dark figure, who, with hands clasped round her 
knees, sat gazing as if she could never gaze her fill, upon 
the sleeping warrior beside whom she sat, his clear straight 
profile like a cameo, both in chiseling and in color, as it 
lay on the brown cloak where he slept the profound sleep 
of content and of fatigue. 


210 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


Neither she nor Philip would have spoken or stirred to 
break that well-earned rest; but sounds from without were 
not long in opening his eyes, and as they met her intent 
gaze, he smiled and said, Good-morrow, sweetheart! 
What, learning how ugly a fellow is come back to thee?^^ 

‘‘ No, indeed! I was tr3dng to trace thine old likeness, 
and then wondering how I ever liked thy boyish face better 
than the noble look thou bearest now !' ^ 

“Ah! when I set out to come to thee, I was a walking 
rainbow; yet I was coxcomb enough to think thou wouldst 
overlook it/^ 

“ Show me those cruel strokes,^' she said; “ I see one 
— and her finger traced the same as poor King Charles had 
done — “ but where is the one my wicked cousin called by 
that frightful name?^’ 

“ Nay, verily, that sweet name spared my life! A little 
less spite at my peach cheek, and I had been sped, and had 
not lisped and stammered all my days in honor of le haiser 
d^Eiistacie and as he pushed aside his long golden silk 
mustache to show the ineffaceable red and purple scar, he 
added, smiling, “ It has waited long for its right remedy. 

At that moment the door in the rood-screen opened. 
Captain Falconnet^s one eye stared in amazement, and 
from beneath his gray mustache thundered forth the word 
“ comment !” in accents fit to wake the dead. 

Was this Esperance, the most irreproachable of pastor^s 
daughters and widows? “ What, madame, so soon as your 
good father is under ground? At least I thought one 
woman could be trusted; but it seems we must see to the 
wounded ourselves.’^ 

She blushed, but stood her ground; and Berenger shout- 
ed, “ She is my wife, sir! — my wife w^hom I have sought so 
long!^^ 

“That must be as Madame la Duchesse chooses,^ ^ said 
the captain. “ She is under her charge, and must be sent 
to her as soon as this canaille is cleared off. To your rooms, 
madame !^^ 

“I am her husband !^^ again cried Berenger. “We 
have been married sixteen years. 

“You need not talk to me of dowry; Madame la Duch- 
esse will settle that, if you are fool enough to mean any- 
thing by it. No, no, mademoiselle. Eve no time for folly. 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


211 


Come with me, sir, and see if that be true which they say 
of the rogues outside. ” 

And putting his arm into Berenger’s, he fairly carried 
him off, discoursing by the way on feu M. TAmiral’s say- 
ing that “ Overstrictness in camp was perilous, since a 
young saint, an old devil, but warning him that this was 
prohibited gear, as he was responsible for the young woman 
to Mme. la Duchesse. Berenger, who had never made the 
captain hear anything that he did not know before, looked 
about for some interpreter whose voice might be more 
effectual, but found himself being conducted to the spiral 
stair of the church steeple; and suddenly gathering that 
some new feature in the case had arisen, followed the old 
man eagerly up the winding steps to the little square of 
leaden roof where the Quinet banner was planted. It com- 
manded a wide and splendid view, to the Bay of Biscay on 
the one hand, and the inland mountains on the other; but 
the warder, who already stood there, pointed silently to the 
north, where, on the road by which Berenger had come, 
was to be seen a cloud of dust, gilded by the rays of the 
rising sun. 

Who raised it was a matter of no doubt; and Berenger^s 
morning orisons were paid with folded hands, in silent 
thanksgiving, as he watched the sparkling of pikes and 
gleaming of helmets — and the white flag of Bourbon at 
length became visible. 

Already the enemy below were sending out scouts — they 
rode to the top of the hill — then a messenger swam his 
horse across the river. In the camp before the bridge- 
tower men buzzed out of their tents, like ants whose hill 
is disturbed; horses were fastened to the cannon, tents were 
struck, and it was plain that the siege was to be raised. 

Captain Falconnet did his ally the honor to consult him 
on the expedience of molesting the Guisards by a sally, and 
trying to take some of their guns; but Berenger merely 
bowed to whatever he said, while he debated aloud the pros 
and cons, and at last decided that the garrison had been too 
much reduced for this, and that M. le Due would prefer 
finding them drawn up in good order to receive him, to 
their going chasing and plundering disreputably among the 
enemy — the duke being here evidently a much greater per- 
sonage than the King of Navarre, hereditary Governor of 
Guyenne though he were. Indeed, nothing was wanting 


212 


THE CHAPLET OE PEAELS. 


to the confusion of Berenger^s late assailants. In the 
camp on the north side of the river, things were done with 
some order; but that on the other side was absolutely aban- 
doned, and crowds were making in disorder for the ford, 
leaving everything behind them, that they might not have 
their retreat cut off. Would there be a battle? Falconnet, 
taking in with his eye the numbers of the succoring party, 
thought the duke would allow the besiegers to depart un- 
molested, but remembered with a sigh that a young king 
had come to meddle in their affairs! 

However, it was needful to go down and marshal the men 
for the reception of the new-comers, or to join in the fight, 
as the case might be. 

And it was a peaceful entrance that took place some 
hours later, and was watched from the windows of the 
priof’s rooms, by Eustacie, her child, and Philip, whom 
she had been able to install in her own apartments, which 
had been vacated by the refugee women in haste to return 
home, and where he now sat in Maitre Gardon^s great straw 
chair, wrapped in his loose gown, and looking out at the 
northern gates, thrown open to receive the king and duke, 
old Falconnet presenting the keys to the duke, the duke 
bowing low as he offered them to the king, and the king 
waving them back to the duke and the captain. Then they 
saw Falconnet presenting the tall auxiliary who had been 
so valuable to him, the joyous greeting of an old friend 
bestowed on him, his gesture as he pointed up to the win- 
dow, and the king’s upward look, as he doffed his hat and 
bowed low, while Eustacie rAsponded with the most grace- 
ful of reverences, such as reminded Philip that his little 
sister-in-law and tender nurse was in truth a great court 
lady. 

Presently Berenger came upstairs, brinsfing with him his 
faithful foster-brother Osbert, who, though looking gaunt 
and lean, had nearly recovered his strength, and had ac- 
companied the army in hopes of finding his master. The 
good fellow was full of delight at the welcome of his lady, 
and at once bestirred himself in assisting her in rectifying 
the confusion in which her guests had left her apartment. 

Matters had not long been set straight when steps were 
heard on the stone stair, and, the door opening wide. Cap- 
tain Falconnet ’s gruff voice was heard, “ This way, mon- 
seigneur, this way, sire.” 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS, 


213 


This was Mme. le Baronne de Ribaumont^s first recep- 
tion. She was standing at the dark walnut table, fresh 
starching and crimping Berenger^s solitary ruff, while 
under her merry superintendence those constant playfel- 
lows, Philip and Payonette, were washing, or pretending to 
wash, radishes in a large wooden bowl, and Berenger was 
endeavoring to write his letter of good tidings, to be sent 
by special messenger to his grandfather. Philip was in 
something very like a Geneva gown; Eustacie wore her 
prim white cap and frill, and coarse black serge kirtle; and 
there was but one chair besides that one which Philip was 
desired to retain, only two three-legged stools and a bench. 

^ Nevertheless, Mme. de Ribaumont was equal to the occa- 
sion; nothing could have been more courtly, graceful, or 
unembarrassed than her manner of receiving the king^s gal- 
lant compliments, and of performing all the courtesies 
suited to the hostess and queen of the place: it was the air 
that would have befitted the stateliest castle hall, yet that 
in its simplicity and brightness still more embellished the 
old ruinous convent-cell. The king was delighted, he sat 
down upon one of the three-legged stools, took Rayonette 
upon his knee, undertook to finish washing the radishes, 
but eat nearly alt he washed, declaring that they put him 
in mind of his old hardy days on the mountains of Bearn. 
He insisted on hearing all Rayonette^s adventure in detail; 
and on seeing the pearls and the silver bullet, “You could 
scarcely have needed the token, sir,^^ said he with a smile 
to Berenger; “ Mademoiselle had already shown herself of 
the true blood of the bravest of knights.'’^ 

The tidings of the attack on Pont de Dronne had caused 
the duke to make a forced march to its relief, in which the 
king had insisted on joining him; and they now intended 
to wait at Pont de Dronne till the rest of the troops came 
up, and to continue their march through Guyenne to Nerac, 
the capital of Henryks county of Foix. The duke suggest- 
ed that if Philip were well enough to move when the army 
proceeded, the family might then take him to Quinet, 
where the duchess would be very desirous to see madame; 
and therewith they took leave with some good-humored 
mirth as to whether M. de Ribaumont would join them at 
siqiper, or remain in the bosom of his family, and whether 
he were to be regarded as a gay bridegroom or a husband 
of sixteen years^ standing. 


214 THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 

“ Nay/^ said the king, “ did his good Orpheus know how 
nearly his Eurydice had slipped through his fingers again? 
how Monsieur de Quinet had caught the respectable Pluto 
yonder in the gray mustache actually arranging an escort 
to send the lady safe back to Quinet hon g7'e mal gre — and 
truly a deaf Pluto was worse than even Orpheus had en- 
countered 

So laughing, he bowed again his compliments; but Eus- 
tacie demanded, so soon as he was gone, what he meant by 
calling her by such names. If he thought it was her Chris- 
tian name, it was over-familiar — if not, she liked it less. 

‘‘ It is only that he last saw you in the Infernal Regions, 
ma said Berenger; ‘‘ and I have sought you ever 

since, as Orpheus sought Eurydice."’^ 

But her learning did not extend so far; and when the ex- 
planation was made, she pouted, and owned that she could 
not bear to be reminded of the most foolish and uncomfort- 
able scene in her life — the cause of all her troubles; and as 
Berenger was telling her of Diane ^s confession that her 
being involved in the pageant was part of the plot for their 
detention at Paris, Osbert knocked at the door, and entered 
with a bundle in his arms, and the air of having done the 
right thing. 

‘‘ There, sir,^^ he said with proud satisfaction, “ I have 
been to the camp across the river. I heard there were good 
stuffs to be had there for nothing, and thought I would see 
if I could find a coat for Monsieur Philippe, for his own is 
a mere ruin. 

This was true, for Eustacie had been deciding that be- 
tween blood and rents it had become a hopeless case for 
renovation; and Osbert joyfully displayed a beautifully-em- 
broidered coat of soft leather, which he had purchased for 
a very small sum of a plunderer who had been there before 
him. The camp had been so hastily abandoned that all 
the luggage had been left, and, like a true valet, Osbert 
had not neglected the opportunity of replenishing his mas- 
ter's wardrobe. ‘‘ And,^^ said he, ‘‘ I saw there one whom 
Monsieur le Baron knows — Monsieur de Nid-de-Merle.^^ 

‘‘ Here!'^ cried Eustacie, startled for a moment, but her 
eyes resting reassured on her husband. 

Madame need not be alarmed,’^ said Osbert; ‘‘ Mon- 
sieur le Baron has well repaid him. Ah! ah! there he lies, 
a spectacle for all good Christians to delight in. ” 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


215 


“ It was then he, le scelerat exclaimed Berenger; “ I 
had already thought it possible.'^ 

“ And he fell b^y your hands cried Eustacie. “ That 
is as it should be.'’ ^ 

“Yes, madame,'’^ said Osbert; “it did my very heart 
good to see him writhing there like a crushed viper. Mon- 
sieur le Barones bullet was mortal, and his own people 
thought him not worth the moving, so there he lies on the 
ground howling and cursing. I would have given him the 
coup de grace myself, but that I thought Monsieur le Baron 
might have some family matters to settle with him; so I 
only asked what he thought now of clapping guiltless folk 
into dungeons, and shooting innocent children like spar- 
rows; but he grinned and cursed like a demon, and I left 
him.^^ ^ 

“ In any one’s charge?” asked Berenger. 

“ In the fiend’s, who is coming for him,” said the de- 
scendant of the Norseman. “ I only told Humfrey that if 
he saw any one likely to meddle he should tell them he was 
reserved for you. Eh! Monsieur le Baron is not going 
now. Supper is about to be served, and if Monsieur le 
Baron woul3 let me array him with this ruff of Spanish 
point, and wax the ends of his belle mustache — ” 

“ It is late,” added Eustacie, laying her hand on his 
arm; “ there may be wild men about — he may be desper- 
ate! Oh, take care!” 

“ Ma mie, do you not think me capable of guarding my- 
self from a wild-cat leap of a dying man? He must not be 
left thus. Eememher he is a Kibaumont. ” 

Vindictiveness and' revenge had their part in the fire of 
Eustacie's nature. Many a time had she longed to strangle 
Narcisse; and she was on the point of saying, “ Think of 
his attempts on that little one’s life — think of your wounds 
and captivity;” but she had not spent three years with 
Isaac Garden without learning that there was sin in giving 
way to her keen hatred; and she forced herself to silence, 
while Berenger said, reading her face, “ Keep it back, sweet 
heart! Make it not harder for me. I would as soon go 
near a dying serpent, but it were barbarity to leave him as 
Osbert describes. ” 

Berenger was too supremely and triumphantly happy not 
to be full of mercy; and as Osbert guided him to the hut 
where the miserable man lay, he felt htUc hut compassion. 


210 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAIILS. 


The scene was worse than he had expected; for not only 
had the attendants fled, but plunderers had come in their 
room, rent away the coverings from the bed, and torn 
the dying man from it. Living, nearly nak^, covered 
with blood. Ins fingers hacked, and ears torn for the sake 
of the jewels on them, lay the dainty and effeminate tiger- 
fop of former days, moaning and scarcely sensible. But 
when the mattress had been replaced, and Berenger had 
lifted him back to it, laid a cloak over him, and moistened 
his lips, he opened his eyes, but only to exclaim, “You 
there! as if I had not enough to mock me! Away!^^ and 
closed them sullenly. 

“ I would try to relieve you, cousin, said Berenger. 

The answer was a savage malediction on h^ocrisy, and 
the words, “ And my sister?^ ^ ^ 

“Your sister is in all honor and purity at the nunnery 
of Lucon.’^ 

He laughed a horrible, incredulous laugh. “ Safely dis- 
posed of ere you cajoled la petite with the fable of your 
faithfulness! Notliing like a Huguenot for lying to both 
sides;^^ and then ensued another burst of imj^recations on 
the delay that had prevented him from seizing the fugi- 
tives — till Berenger felt as if the breath of hell were upon 
him, and could not help vindicating himself, vain though 
he knew it to be: “ Narcisse de Kibaumont,^^ he said 
gravely, “ my word has never been broken, and you know 
the keeping of it has not been without cost. On Biat word 
believe that Madame de Selin ville is as spotless a matron as 
when she periled herself to save my life. I never even 
knew her sex till I had drawn her half drowned from the 
sea, and after that I only saw her in the presence of Horn 
Colombeau of Nissard, in whose care I left her.^-’ 

Harcisse^s features contorted themselves into a frightful 
sneer as he muttered, “ The intolerable fool! and that he 
should have got the better of me, that is if it be true — and 
I believe not a word of it.^^ 

“ At least said Berenger, “ waste not these last hours 
on hating and reviling me, but let this fellow of mine, who 
is a very fair surgeon, bind your wound again. 

“ Eh!’’ said Narcisse, spitefully, turning his head, 
“ your own rogue? Let me see what work he made of le 
baimr d'Eustacie, Pray, how does it please her?^^ 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


217 


‘‘ She thanks Heaven that your chief care was to spoil 
my face. " 

“ I hear she is a prime doctoress; but of course you 
brought her not hither lest she should hear how you got out 
of our keeping/^ 

“ She knows it. 

‘‘ Ah! she has been long enough at court to know one 
must overlook that one^s own little matters may be over- 
looked. ” 

Berenger burst out at last, “ Her I will not hear blas- 
phemed: the next word against her I leave you to yourself. ” 

‘‘ That is all I want/^ said Narcisse. “ These cares of 
yours are only douceurs to your conceited heretic^,! con- 
science, and a lengthening out of this miserable affair. You 
would scoff at the only real service you could render me. 

‘‘And that is — 

“ To fetch a priest. Ha! ha! one of your sort would 
sooner hang me. You had rather see me perish body and 
soul in this Huguenot dog-hole! What! do you stammer? 
Bring a psalm-singing heretic here, and 1^11 teach him and 
you what you may call blasphemy.^'’ 

“ A priest you shall have, cousin, ” said Berenger gravely; 
“ I will do my utmost to bring you one. Meanwhile, strive 
to bring yourself into a state in which he may benefit you/’ 

Berenger was resolved that the promise should be kept. 
He saw that despair was hardening the wretched man^s 
heart, and that the possibility of fulfilling his Churches 
rites might lead him to address himself to repentance; but 
.the difficulties were great. Osbert, the only Catholic at 
hand, was disposed to continue his vengeance beyond the 
grave, and only at his master’s express command would 
even exercise his skill to end3avor to preserve life till the 
confessor could be brought. Ordinary Huguenots would re- 
gard the desire of Narcisse as a wicked superstition, and 
Berenger could only hurry back to consult some of the gen- 
tlemen who might be supposed more unprejudiced. 

As he was crossing the quadrangle at full speed, he al- 
most ran against the King of Navarre, who was pacing up 
and down reading letters, and who replied to his hasty 
apologies by saying he looked as if the fair Eurydice had 
slipped through his hands again into the Inferno. 

‘^Not so, sire, but there is one too near those gates. 


218 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


Nid-de-Merle is lying at tlie point of death;, calling for a 
priest. 

“ Ventre Saint Oris I” exclaimed the king, ‘‘he is the 
very demon of the piece, who carved your face, stole your 
wife, and had nearly shot your daughter. 

“ The more need of his repentance, sire, and without a 
priest he will not try to repent. I have promised him one. 

“ A bold promise said Henry. “ Have you thought 
how our good friends here are likely to receive a priest of 
Baal into the camp?^ 

“ No, sire, but my best must be done. I pray you coun- 
sel me. ” 

Henry laughed at the simple confidence of the request, 
but replied: “ The readiest way to obtain a priest will be 
to ride with a flag of truce to the enemy’s camp — they are 
at St. Esme — and say that Monsieur de Nid-de-Merle is a 
prisoner and dying, and that I offer safe-conduct to any 
priest that will come to him — though whether a red-hot 
Calvinist will respect my safe-conduct or your escort is 
another matter. ’ ’ 

“ At least, sire, you sanction my making this request?” 

“ Have you men enough to take with you to guard you 
from marauders?” 

“I have but two servants, sire, and I have left them 
with the wounded man. ” 

*‘ Then I will send with you half a dozen Gascons, who 
have been long enough at Paris with mt^ to have no scru- 
ples. ” 

By the time Berenger had explained matters to his wife 
and brother, and snatched a hasty meal, a party of gay, 
soldierly looking fellows were in the saddle, commanded by 
a bronzed sergeant who was perfectly at home in conduct- 
ing messages between contending parties. After a dark ride 
of about five miles, the camp at the village of St. Esme 
was reached, and this person recommended that he himself 
should go forward with a trumpet, since M. de liibaumont 
was liable to be claimed as an escaped prisoner. There was 
then a tedious delay, but at length the soldier returned, 
and another horseman with him. A priest who had come 
to the camp in search of M. de Nid-de-Merle was willing 
to trust himself to the King of Navarre’s safe-conduct. 

“ Thanks, sir,” cried Berenger; “ this is a w^ork of true 
charity.” 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


219 


‘‘ I think I know that voice/^ said the priest. 

“ The priest of Nissard!^^ 

“ Even so, sir. I was seeking Monsieur de Nid-de-Merle, 
and had but just learned that he had been left behind 
wounded. 

“ You came to tell him of his sister?^^ 

And as they rode together the priest related to Berenger 
that Mme. de Selin ville had remained in the same crushed, 
humiliated mood, noi exactly penitent, but too much dis- 
appointed and overpowered with shame to heed what be- 
came of her provided she were not taken back to her brother 
or her aunt. She knew that repentance alone was left for 
her, and permitted herself to be taken to Lucon, where 
Mere Monique was the only person whom she had ever re- 
spected. There had no doubt been germs of good within 
her, but the crime and intrigue of the siren court of 
Catherine de Medici had choked them; and the first sense 
of better things had been awakened by the frank simplicity 
of the young cousin, while, nevertheless, jealousy and fam- 
ily tactics had led her to aid in his destruction, only to learn 
through her remorse how much she loved him. And when 
in his captivity she thought him in her power, but found 
him beyond her reach, unhallowed as was her passion, yet 
still the contemplation of the virtues of one beloved could 
not fail to raise her standard. It was for his truth and pur- 
ity that she had loved him, even while striving to degrade 
these qualities; and when he came forth from her ordeal 
unscathed, her worship of him might for a time be more 
intense, but when the idol was removed, the excellence she 
had first learned to adore in him might yet lead that adora- 
tion up to the source of all excellence. All she sought now 
was shelter wherein to weep and cower unseen; but the 
priest believed that her tears would soon spring from pro- 
found depths of penitence such as often concluded the lives 
of the gay ladies of France. Mere Monique had received her 
tenderly, and the good priest had gone from Lucon to an- 
nounce her fate to her aunt and brother. 

At Bellaise he had found the abbess much scandalized. 
She had connived at her niece's releasing the prisoner, for 
she had acquired too much regard for him to let him perish 
under Narcisse's hands, and she had allowed Veronique to 
personate Diane at the funeral mass, and also purposely de- 
tained N'arcisse to prevent the detection of the escape; but 


230 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


the discovery that her niece had accompanied his flight had 
filled her with shame and fury. 

Pursuit had been made toward La Rochelle, but when 
the neighborhood of the King of Navarre became known, 
no doubt was entertained that the fugitives had joined him, 
and Narcisse, reserving his vengeance for the family honor 
till he should encounter Berenger, had hotly resumed the 
intention of pouncing on Eustacie at Pont de Dronne, 
which had been decided on upon the report of the Italian 
spy, and only deferred by his father's death. This once 
done, Berenger's own supposed infidelity would have forced 
him to acquiesce in the annulment of the original marriage. 

It had been a horrible gulf, and Berenger shuddered as 
one who had barely struggled to the shore, and found his 
dear ones safe, and his enemies shattered and helpless on 
the strand. They hurried on so as to be in time. The 
priest, a brave and cautious man, who had often before car- 
ried the rites of the Church to dying men in the midst of 
the enemy, was in a secular dress, and when Berenger had 
given the password, and obtained admittance, they sepa- 
rated, and only met again to cross the bridge. They found 
Osbert and Humfrey on guard, saying that the sufferer still 
lingered, occasionally in a terrible paroxysm of bodily an- 
guish, but usually silent, except when he upbraided Osbert 
with his master's breach of promise or incapacity to bring 
a priest through his Huguenot friends. 

Such a taunt was on his tongue when Pere Colombeau 
entered, and checked the scoff by saying, “ See, my son, 
you have met with more pardon and mercy even on earth 
than you had imagined possible." 

There was a strange spasm on Narcisse's ghastly face, as 
though he almost regretted the obligation forced on him, 
but Berenger scarcely saw him again. It was needful for 
the security of the priest and the tranquillity of the relig- 
ious rites that he should keep watch outside, lest any of the 
more fanatical of the Huguenots should deem it their duty 
to break in on what they had worked themselves into be- 
lieving offensive idolatry. 

His watch did not prove uncalled for. At different times 
he had to plead the king's safe-conduct, and his own honor, 
and even to defend his own Protestantism by appealing to 
his wounds and services. Hearts were not soft enough then 
for the cruelly of disturbing a dying man to be any argu- • 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


221 


ment at all in that fierce camp; but even there the name of 
Pere Colombeau met with respect. The saintly priest had 
protected too many enemies for any one who had heard of 
him to wish him ill. 

Nearly all night was Berenger thus forced to remain on 
guard, that the sole hope of Narcisse^s repentance and sal- 
vation might not be swept away by violence from without, 
renewing bitterness within. Not till toward morning was 
he called back. The hard, lingering death struggle had 
spent itself, and slow convulsive gasps showed that life was 
nearly gone; but the satanic sneer had passed away, and a 
hand held out, a breathing like the word “ pardon 
seemed to be half uttered, and was answered from the bot- 
tom of Berenger’s kind and pitying heart. Another quarter 
of an hour, and Narcisse de Ribaumont Nid-de-Merle was 
dead. The priest looked pale, exhausted, shocked, but 
would reveal nothing of the frame of mind he had shown, 
only that if he had been touched by any saving penitence, 
it was owing to his kinsman. 

Berenger wished to send the corpse to rest in the family 
vault at Bellaise, where the chevalier had so lately been 
laid; and the priest undertook to send persons with a flag 
of truce to provide for the transport, as well as to announce 
the death to the.sister and the aunt. Wearied as he was, he 
would not accept Berenger^s earnest invitation to come and 
take rest and refreshment in the prior’s rooms, but t6ok 
leave of him at the further side of the fortress, with almost 
reverent blessings, as to one not far from the kingdom of 
heaven ; and Berenger, with infinite peacefulness in his 
heart, went home in the silence of the Sunday morning, 
and lay sleeping away his long fatigue through the chief 
part of the day, while Pastor Merlin was preaching an elo- 
quent sermon upon his good brother Isaac uardon, and Eus- 
tacie shed filial tears, more of tenderness than sorrow. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

THE GALLIMAFRE. 

Spcats and raxes, speats and raxes, speats and raxes. 

Loi'd Somermlle's billet. 

Never wont to let the grass grow under his feet, Henry 
of Navarre was impatient of awaiting his troops at Pont de 


222 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAELS. 


Dronne, and proposed to hasten on to Quinet, as a conven- 
ient center for collecting the neighboring gentry for confer- 
ence. Thus, early on Monday, a party of about thirty set 
forth on horseback, including the Ribaumonts, Rayonette 
being perched by turns in front of her father or mother, 
and the Duke de Quinet declaring that he should do his 
best to divide the Journey into stages not too long for 
Philip, since he was anxious to give his mother plenty of 
time to make preparations for her royal guest. 

He had, however, little reckoned on the young king’s 
promptitude. The first courier he had dispatched was over- 
taken at a cabaret only five leagues from Pont de Dronne, 
baiting his horse, as he said; the second was found on the 
road with a lame horse and the halt for the night was 
made so far on the way that only half a day’s journey re- 
mained beyond it. The last stage had been ridden, much 
to the duke’s discontent, for it brought them to a mere 
village inn, with scarcely any accommodation. The only 
tolerable bed was resigned by the king to the use of Philip, 
whose looks spoke the exhaustion of which his tongue scorned 
to complain. So painful and feverish a night ensued that 
Eustacie was anxious that he should not move until the 
duke should, as he promised, send a mule litter back for 
him; but this proposal he resented; and in the height of his 
constitutional obstinacy, appeared booted and spurred at 
the first signal to mount. 

Nor could Eustacie, as she soon perceived, annoy him 
more than by showing her solicitude for him, or attracting 
to him the notice of the other cavaliers. As the only lady 
of the party, she received a great deal of attention, with 
some of which she would gladly have dispensed. Whether 
it were the king’s habit of calling her “ la Belle Eurydice,” 
or because, as she said, he was “ si laid ” and reminded her 
of old unhappy days of constraint, she did not like him and 
had almost displeased her husband and his brother by say- 
ing so. She would gladly have avoided the gallantries of 
this day’s ride by remaining with Philip at the inn; but not 
only was this impossible, but the peculiar ill-temper of con- 
cealed suffering made Philip drive her off whenever she ap- 
proached him with inquiries; so that she was forced to leave 
him to his brother and Osbert, and ride forward between 
the king and the duke, the last of whom she really liked. 

Welcome was the sight of the grand old chateau, its 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


223 


mighty wings of chestnut forest stretching iip the hills on 
either side, and the stately avenue extending before it; but 
just then the last courier was discovered, reeling in his sad- 
dle under the effects of repeated toasts in honor of Navarre 
and Quinet. 

‘‘ We are fairly sped,^' said the duke to Eustacie, shrug- 
ging his shoulders between amusement and dismay. 

“ Madame la Duchesse is equal to any gallimafre,^^ said 
Eustacie, demurely; at which the duke laughed heartily, 
saying, “ It is not for the family credit I fear, but for my 
own V* 

“ Nay, triumph makes everything be forgiven. 

“ But not forgotten,^ ^ laughed the duke. ‘‘But, allons. 
Now for the onset. We are already seen. The forces mus- 
ter at the gate-way. 

By the time the cavalcade were at the great paved archway 
into the court, the duchess stood at the great door, a grand- 
son on either side, and a great burly fresh-colored gentle- 
man behind her. 

M. de Quinet was off his horse in a second, his head bare, 
his hand on the royal rein, and signing to his eldest son to 
hold the stirrup; but, before the boy had comprehended, 
Henry had sprung down, and was kissing the old lady^s 
hand, saying, “ Pardon, madame! I trust to your goodness 
for excusing this surprise from an old friend ^s son.^^ 

Neither seeing nor caring for king or prince, the stranger 
gentleman at the same moment pounced upon Eustacie and 
her little girl, crying aloud in English, “ Here she is! My 
dear, I am glad to see you. Give her to me, poor Beren- 
ger’s little darling. Ah! she does not understand. Whereas 
Me rry court? 

Just then there was another English exclamation, “ My 
father! Father! dear father !^^ and Philip, flinging him- 
self from the saddle, fell almost prone on that broad breast, 
sobbing convulsively, while the eyes that, as he truly, 
boasted had never wasted a tear on his enemies, were 
streaming so fast that his father’s welcome savored of re- 
proof: “ What’s all this? Before these French too. 

“ Take care, father,” cried Berenger, leaping from his 
horse; “ he has an ugly wound just where you are holding 
him. •” 

“ Wounded! my poor boy. Lookup.” 

“ Where is your room, sir?” said Berenger, seeing his 


224 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. 


hosts entirely, occupied with the king; and. at once lifting 
the almost helpless Philip like a little child in his strong 
arms, he followed Sir Marmaduke, who, as if walking in 
his sleep, led. the way up the great stone staircase that led 
outside the house to the upper chambers. 

After a short interval, the duchess, in the plenitude of 
her glory at entertaining her dear queen’s son, came up en 
grande tenue, leading the king by the hand, the duke 
walking backward in front, and his two sons each holding 
a big wax candle on either side. 

Here, sire, is the chamber where the excellent queen 
d.id me the honor to repose herself. ” 

The duke swung open the door of the state bed-chamber. 
There, on the velvet-hung bed sat le gros Chevalier An- 
glais, whom she had herself installed there on Saturday. 
Both his hands were held fast in those of a youth who lay 
beside him, deadly pale, and half undressed, with the little 
Eibaumont attending to a wound in his side, while her child 
was held in the arms of a very tall, bald-headed young 
man, who stood at the foot of the bed. The whole group 
of interlopers looked perfectly glorified with happiness and 
delight. Even the wounded youth, ghastly and suffering 
as he was, lay stroking the big Enslisliman’s hand with a 
languid, caressing air of content, almost like that of a dog 
who has found his master. None of them were the least 
embarrassed, they evidently thought this a visit of inquiry 
after the patient; and while the duchess stood confounded, 
and the duke much inclined to laugh, Eustacie turned 
eagerly, exclaiming, “ Ah! madame, I am glad you are 
come. May I beg Mademoiselle Perrot for some of your 
cooling mallow salve. Riding has sadly inflamed the 
wound.” 

“Riding — with such a wound! Are we all crazed?” 
said Mme. la Duchesse, absolutely bewildered out of her 
dignified equanimity; and her son, seeing her for once at a 
loss, came to her rescue: “ His grace will condescend to 
the Andromeda Chamber, madame. He kindly gave up i 
his bed to our young friend last night, when there was less 
choice than you can give him.” 

They all moved off again; and, before Eustacie was ready 
for the mallows, Mme. de Quinet, for whom the very name 
of a wound had an attraction, returned with two hand- 
maidens bearing bandages and medicaments, having by 


THE CHAPLET OF PEAKLS. S25 

tins time come to tlie perception that the wounded 5^oiith 
was the son of the big Englishman who had arrived with 
young Mericour in search of her little protegee, and that 
the tall man was the husband so long supposed to be dead. 
She was cufious to see her pupiEs surgery, of which she 
highly approved, though she had no words to express her 
indignation at the folly of traveling so soon. Indeed, noth- 
ing but the passiveness of fatigue could have made her des- 
potism endurable to Philip; but he cared for nothing so 
long as he could see his father^ s face, and hear his voice — 
the full tones that his ear had yearned for among the sharp 
expression of the French accent — and Sir Marmaduke 
seemed to find the same perfect satisfaction in the sight of 
him; indeed, all were so rejoiced to be together, that they 
scarcely exerted themselves to ask questions. AYhen Peren- ^ 
ger would have made some explanation. Sir Marmaduke* 
only said: “ Tell me not yet, my dear boy. I see it is all 
right, and my head will hold no more yet but that I have 
you and the lad again! Thank God for it! Never mind 
liow.^^ 

When, however, with some difficulty they got him away 
from Philipps bedside down to supper, the king came and 
made him high compliments upon the distinguished bravery 
of his sons, and Mericour interpreted, till Sir Marmaduke 
— though answering that of course the lads must do their 
duty, and he was only glad to hear they had done it — be- 
came more and more radiant and proud, as he began to 
gather 'what their trials, and what their steadfastness and 
courage had been. His goodly face, beaming with honest 
gladness, was, as Henry told the duchess, an absolute orna- 
ment to her table. 

Unable, however, to converse with any one but Berenger 
and Mericour, and pining all the time to get back to his 
son, the lengthy and ceremonious meal was a weary pen- 
ance to him ; and so soon as his release was possible, he 
made his way upstairs again, where he found Philip much 
refreshed by a long sleej), and only afraid that he should 
find the sight of his father merely a dream; then, when 
satisfied on that head, eager to hear of all at home — ‘ ‘ the 
sisters, the dogs, my mother, and my little brother?^^ as 
he arranged his inquiry. 

Ha! you heard of that, did you?^^ 

‘‘ Yes,^^ said Philip, ‘‘ the villains gave us letters once 

S-2a half. 


22(j THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 

— only once — and those what they thought would sting us 
most. Oh father, how could you all think such foul shame 
of Berry 

“ Don^t speak of it, Phil; I never did, nor Aunt Cecily, 
not for a moment; but my lord is not the mail he was, and 
those foes of yours must have set abroad vile reports for the 
very purpose of deceiving us. And then this child must 
needs be born, poor little rogue. I shall be able to take to 
him now all is right again; but by 8t. George, they have 
tormented me so about him, and wanted me to take him 
as a providence to join the estates together, instead of you 
and Berry, that I never thought to care so little for a child 
of my own. 

“We drank his health at Nid-de-Merle, and were not a 
, little comforted that you would have him in our place. 

“ I'’d rather — Well, it skills not talking of it, but it 
just shows the way of women. After all the outcry Dame 
Annora had made about her poor son, and no one loving 
him or heeding his interest save herself, no sooner was this 
little fellow born than she had no thought for any but he, 
and would fain have had her father settle all his lands on 
him, protesting that if Berry lived, his French lands were 
enough for him. Out of sight, out of mind, is the way 
•with women. 

Womanhood was always made accountable for all Lady 
Thistlewood^s follies, and Philip acquiesced, asking further, 
“ Nay, but how came you hither, father? Was it to seek 
us or Eustacie?^^ 

“ Both, both, my lad. One morning just after Christ- 
mas, I rid over to Combe with my dame behind me, and 
found the house in commotion with a letter that young 
Sidney, Berry^’s friend, had just sent down by special mes- 
senger. It had been writ more than a year, but, bless you, 
these poor foreigners have such crooked ears and tongues 
that they don^t know what to make of a plain maiPs 
name, and the only wonder was that it ever came at all. It 
seems the duke here had to get it sent over by some of the 
secret agents the French Protestants have in England, and 
what do they but send it to one of the Vivians in Cornwall; 
and it was handed about among them for how long I can 
not say, till there was a chance of sei/ding it up to my Lord 
of Warwick; and he, being able make nothing of it, 
shows it to his nephew, Philip SidjAey, who, perceiving at 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


227 


once whom it concerned, sends it straight to my lord, with 
a handsome letter hoping that it brought good tidings. 
There then it was, and so we first knew that the poor lady 
had not been lost in the sack of the town, as Master Hobbs 
told us. She told us how this duchess had taken her under 
her protection, but that her enemies were seeking her, and 
had. even attempted her child's life." 

“ The ruffians! even so." 

“ And she said her old pastor was failing in health, and 
prayed that some trusty person might ba sent to bring 
home at least the child to safety with her kindred. There 
was a letter to the same effect, praising her highly too, 
from the duchess, saying that she would do her best to 
guard her, but the kinsmen had the law on their side, and 
she would be safer in England. Well, this was fair good 
news, save that we marveled the more how you and Berry 
should have missed her; but the matter now was who was 
the trusty person who should go. Claude Mefiycourt was 
ready — " 

“ How came he there?" demanded Philip. “ T thought 
he had gone, or been sent off with Lady Burnett's sons. " 

Why, so he had; but there's more to say on that score. 
He was so much in favor at Combe, that my lord would not 
be denied his spending the holiday times there; and, besides, 
last summer we had a mighty coil. The Horners of Mells 
made me a rare good offer for Lucy for their eldest son, 
chiefly because they wanted a wife for him of my Lady 
Walwyn's and Mistress Cecily's breeding; and my wife was 
all for accepting it, having by that time given up all hope 
of poor Berry. But I would have no commands laid on my 
girl, seeing that I had pledged my word not to cross her in 
the matter, and she hung about my neck and prayed me so 
meekly to leave her unwedded, that I must have been made 
of stone not to yield to her. So I told Mr. Horner that 
his son Jack must wait for little Nancy if he wanted a 
daughter of mine— and the stripling is young enough. I 
believe he will. But women's tongues are not easy to stop, 
and Lucy was worn so thin, and had tears in her eyes — 
that she thought I never marked— whenever she was fretted 
or flouLed, and at last I took her back to stay at Combe for 
Aunt Cecily to cheer up a bit; and — -well, well, to get rid 
of the matter and silence Dame Nan, I consented to a be- 
trothal between her and Merry court — since she vowed she 


228 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


would rather wait single for him than wed any one else. 
He is a good youth, and is working himself to a shadow be- 
tween studying and teaching; but as to sending him alone 
to bring Berry’s wife back, he was overyoung for that. No 
one could do that fitly save myself, and I only wish I had 
gone three years ago, to keep you two foolish lads out of 
harm’s way. But they set up an unheard-of hubbub, and 
made sure I should lose myself. What are you laughing 
at, you Jacksauce?” 

“ To think of you starting, father, with not a word of 
French, and never from home further than once to Lon- 
don.” 

“Ah! you thought to come the traveled gentleman over 
me, but I’ve been even with you. I made Dame Nan 
teach me a few words, but I never could remember any- 
thing but that ‘ mercy ’ is ‘ thank ye.’ However, Merry- 
court offered to come with me, and my lord wished it. 
Moreover, I thought he might aid in tracing you out. So 
I saw my lord alone, and he passed his word to me that, 
come what would, no one should persuade him to alter his 
will to do wrong to Berenger’s daughter; and so soon as 
Master Hobbs could get the “ Throstle” unladen, and fitted 
out again, we sailed for Bordeaux, and there he is waiting 
for us, while Claude and I bought horses and hired a guide, 
and made our way here on Saturday, where we were very 
welcome; and the duchess said she would but wait till she 
could learn there were no bands of the enemy at hand, to 
go down with me herself to the place where she had sent 
the lady. A right worthy dame is this same duchess, and 
a stately; and that young king, as they call him, seems 
hard to please, for he told Berry that his wife’s courtliness 
and ease in his reception were far above aught that he found 
here. What he means is past a plain man, for as to Berry’s 
wife she is handy, and notable enough, and ’tis well he 
loves her so well; but what a little brown thing it is, for a 
man to have gone through such risks for. Nothing to look 
at beside his mother!” 

“If you could only see Madame de Selin ville!” sighed 
Philip — then. “ Ah! sir, you would know the worth of 
Eustacie had you seen her in yonder town. ” 

“ Very like!” said Sir Marmaduke; “but after all our 
fears at home of a fine court madame, it takes one aback 
to see a little homely brown thing, clad like a serving 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


22d 


wencli. Well, Dame Nan will not be displeased, she 
always said the girl would grow up no beauty, and ^tis the 
way of women to brook none fairer than themselves! Bet- 
ter so. She is a good Protestant, and has done rarely by 
you, Phil.^^ 

“ Truly, I might be glad Twas no court madame that 
stood by me when Berry was called back to the fight: and 
for the little one, Tis the loveliest and bravest little maid I 
ever saw. Have they told you of the marigolds, father?"^ 

“ Why, the king told the whole to the duchess, so Berry 
said, and then drank the health of the daughter of the 
bravest of knights; and Berry held her up in his arms to 
bow again, and drink to them from his glass. Berry 
looked a proud man, I can tell you, and a comely, spite of 
his baldness; and 'tis worth having come here to see how 
much you lads are thought of — though to be sure Tis not 
often the poor creatures here see so much of an English- 
man as we have made of Berry. 

Philip could not but laugh. ‘‘ ’Tis scarce for that that 
they value him, sir. ” 

“ Say you so? Nay, me thinks his English heart and 
yours did them good" service. Indeed, the king himself 
told me as much by the mouth of Merrycourt. May that 
youngster^s head only not be turned! Why, they set him 
at table above Berenger, and above half the king^s 
men. Even the duchess makes as if he were one of her ' 
highest guests — he a poor Oxford scholar, doubting if he 
can get his bread by the law, and fiouted as though he were 
not .good enough for my daughter. "Tis the world topsy- 
turvy, sure enough! And that this true love that Berenger 
has run through fire and water after, like a knight in a 
peddler^s ballad, should turn out a mere little, brown, com- 
mon-looking woman after all, not one whit equal to 
LucyT^ 

Sir Marmaduke modified his disappointment a little that 
night, when he had talked Philip into a state of feverish- 
ness and suffering that became worse under Mme. de 
QuinePs reproofs and remedies, and only yielded to Eus- 
tacie's long and patient soothing. He then could almost 
have owned that it was well she was not like his own 
cherished type of womanliood, and the next day he changed 
his opinion still more, even as to her appearance. 

There was a great gathering of favorers of the Huguenot 


230 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


cause on that day; gentlemen came from all parts to con- 
sult with Henry of Navarre, and Mme. de Quinet had too 
much sense of the fitness of things to allow Mme. de Ei- 
baumont to appear at the ensuing banquet in her shabby, 
rusty black serge, and tight white borderless cap. The 
whole wardrobe of the poor young Duchess de Quinet was 
placed at her service, and, though with the thought of her 
adopted father on her heart, she refused gay colors, yet 
when, her toilet complete, she sailed into Philip's room, he 
almost sprung up in delight, and Sir Marmaduke rose and 
ceremoniously bowed as to a stranger, and was only unde- 
ceived when little Rayonette ran joyously to Pliilip, asking 
if Maman was not si helle, si leJle. ■ 

The effects of her unrestful nights had now passed away, 
and left her magnificent eyes in their full brilliancy and 
arch fire; the blooming glow was restored to her cheek; 
and though neck, brow and hands were browner than in 
the shelter of convent or palace, she was far more near ab- 
solute beauty than in former days, both from countenance 
and from age. Her little proud head was clustered with 
glossy locks of jet, still short, but curling round her brow 
and neck whose warm brunette tints contrasted well with 
the delicate, stiffened cobweb of her exquisite standing 
ruff, which was gathered into a white satin bodice, with a 
skirt of the same material,*over which swept a rich black 
brocade train open in front, with an open body and half- 
sleeves with falling lace, and the hands, delicate and 
shapely as ever, if indeed a little tanned, held fan and 
handkerchief with as much courtly grace as though they 
had never stirred broth nor wrung out linen. Sir Marma"- 
duke really feared he had the court madame on his hands 
after all, but he forgot all about his fears, as she stood 
laughing and talking, and by her pretty airs and gestures, 
smiles* and signs, making him enter into her mirth with 
Philip, almost as well as if she had not spoken French. 

Even Berenger started, when he came up after the coun- 
sel to fetch her to the banqueting-hall. She was more en- 
tirely the Eustacie of the Louvre than he had ever realized 
seeing her, and yet so much more; and when the duchess 
beheld the sensation she produced among the noblesse, it 
was with self-congratulation in having kept her in retire- 
ment while it was still not known that she was not a widow. 
The King of Navarre had already found her the only lady 


THE CHAPLET OP PEARLS. 


231 


present possessed of the peculiar aroma of hi^h-breeding 
which belonged to the society in which both he and she had 
been most at home, and his attentions were more than she 
liked from one whose epithet of Eurydice she had never 
quite forgiven; at least, that was the only reason she could 
assign for her distaste, but the duchess understood her bet- 
ter than did Berenger, nay, better than she did herself, and 
kept her under the maternal wings of double form and 
ceremony. 

Berenger, meanwhile, was in great favor. A command 
had been oh'ered him by the Aing of Navarre, who had 
promised that if he would cast his lot with the Huguenots, 
his claims on all the lands of Eibaumont should be enforced 
on the King of France when terms were wrung from him, 
and Narcisse^s death removed all valid obstacle to their 
recognition; but Berenger felt himself bound by all home 
duties to return to England, nor had he clear convictions as 
to the absolute right of the war in which he had almost un- 
consciously drawn his sword. Under the Tudors the divine 
rights of kings was strongly believed in, and it was with 
many genuine misgivings that the cause of Protestant re- 
volt was favored by EUzabeth and her ministers; and 
Berenger, bred up in a strong sense of loyalty, as well as 
in doctrines that, as he had received them, savored as little 
of Calvinism as of Komanism, was not ready to espouse the 
Huguenot cause with all his heart; and as he could by no 
means have fought on the side of King Henry HI. or of the 
Guises, felt thankful that the knot could be cut by renounc- 
ing France altogether, according to the arrangement which 
had been defeated by the chevalier^s own super-subtle 
machinations. 

At the conference of gentlemen held at Quinet, he had 
been startled by hearing the name of the Sieur de Bellaise, 
and had identified him with a grave, thin, noble-looking 
man, with an air of high-bred and patient poverty. He 
was a Catholic but no Guisard, and supported the middle 
policy of the Montmorency party, so far as he possessed any 
influence; but his was only the weight of personal char- 
acter, for he had merely a small property that had descended 
to him through his grandmother, the wife of the unfortu- 
nate Bellaise who had pined to death in the dungeon at 
Loches, under Louis XI. Here, then, Berenger saw the 
right means of ridding himself and his family of the 


232 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


burden that his father had mourned over, and it only re- 
mained to convince Eustacie. Her first feeling when she 
heard of the king’s offer, was that at last her ardent wish 
would be gratified, she should see her husband at the head 
of her vassals, and hear the war-cry motto, “ A moi Ribau- 
mont. ” Then came the old representation that the Ven- 
dean peasants were faithful Catholics who could hardly be 
asked to fight on the Calvinist side. The old spirit rose 
in a flush, a pout, a half-uttered query why those creatures 
should be allowed their opinions. Mme. la Baronne was 
resuming her haughty temperament in the noblesse atmos- 
phere; but in the midst came the remembrance of having 
made that very speech in her Temple ruin — of the grave 
sad look of rebuke and shake of the head with which the 
good old minister had received it — and how she had sulked 
at him till forced to throw herself on him to hinder her 
separation from her child. Bhe burst into tears, and as 
Berenger, in some distress, began to assure her that he 
would and could do nothing without her consent, she strug- 
gled to recover voice to say, ‘‘No! no! I only grieve that 
I am still as wicked as ever, after these three years with 
that saint, my dear father. Do as you will, only pardon 
me, the little fierce one!” 

And then, when she was made to perceive that her hus- 
band would have to fight alone, and could not take her with 
him to share his triumphs or bind his wounds, at least not 
except by bringing her in contact with Henry of Navarre 
and that atmosphere of the old court, she acquiesced tlie 
more readily. She was a woman who could feel but not 
reason; and, though she loved Nid-de-Merle, and had been 
proud of it, Berenger’s description of the ill-used Sieur de 
Bellaise had the more effect on her, because she well re- 
membered the traditions whispered among the peasants with 
whom her childhood had been passed, that the village 
crones declared nothing had gone well with the place since 
the Bellaises had been expelled, with a piteous tale of the 
broken-hearted lady, that she had never till now under- 
stood. 

For the flagrant injustice perpetrated on her uncle and 
cousin in the settlement on Berenger and herself she cared 
little, thinking they had pretty well repaid themselves, and 
not entering into Berenger ’s deeper view, that this injustice 
was the more to be deplored as the occasion of their guilt; 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


2S3 


but she had no doubt or question as to the grand stroke of 
yielding up her claims on the estate of the Sieur de Bellaise. 
The generosity of the deed struck her imagination, and if 
Berenger would not lead her vassals to battle, she did not 
want them. There was no difficulty with Sir Marmaduke; 
he only vowed that he liked Berenger’ s wife all the better 
for bemg free of so many yards of French dirt tacked to her 
petticoat, and Philip hated the remembrance of those red 
sugar-loaf pinnacles far too much not to wish his brother 
to be rid of them. 

M. de Bellaise, when once he understood that restitution 
was intended, astonished Sir Marmaduke by launching him- 
self on Berenger’ s neck with tears of joy; and Henry of 
Navarre, though sorry to lose such a partisan as the young 
baron, allowed that the Bellaise claims, being those of a 
Catholic, might serve to keep out some far more danger- 
ous person whom the Court party might select in opposition 
to an outlaw and a Protestant like M. de Ribaumont. 

So you leave us,” he said hi private to Berenger, to 
whom he had taken a great liking. ‘ ‘ I can not blame 
you for not casting your lot into such a witch’s caldron as 
this poor country. My friends think I dallied at court dike 
Rinaldo in Armida’s garden. They do not understand that 
when one hears the name of Bourban one does not willingly 
make war with the Crown, still less that the good Calvin 
left a doctrine bitter to the taste, and tough of digestion. 
May be, since I have been forced to add my spoon to stir 
the caldron, it may clear itself; if so, you will remember 
that you have rights in Normandy and Picardy.” 

This was the royal farewell. Henry and his suite de- 
parted the next morning, but the duchess insisted on retain- 
ing her other guests till Philip’s cure should be complete. 
Meantime, Claude de Mericour had written to his brother 
and arranged a meeting with. him. He was now no boy 
who could be coerced, but a staid, self-reliant, scholarly 
person, with a sword by his side and an English passport to 
secure him, and his brother did not regard him as quite the 
disgrace to his family he had at first deemed him. He 
was at least no rebel; and though the law seemed to French 
eyes infinitely beneath the dignity of a scion of nobility, 
still it was something not to have him a heretic preacher, 
and to be able at least to speak of him as betrothed to the 
sister of the Baron de Ribaumont. Moreover, that 


234 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


Huguenot kinsman, whose extreme Calvinist opinions had 
so nearly revolted Mericour, had died and left him all his 
means, as the only Protestant in the family; and the 
amount, when Claude arranged matters with his brother, 
proved to be sufficient to bear him through his expenses 
handsomely as a student, with the hope of marriage so soon 
as he should have kept his terms at the Temple. 

And thus the good ship “ Throstle bore home the whole 
ha2)py party to Weymouth, and good Sir. Marmaduke had 
an unceasing cause for exultation in the brilliant success of 
his mission to France. 

After all, the first to revisit that country was no other 
than the once home-sick Philip. He wearied of inaction, 
and thought his county neighbors ineffably dull and lub- 
berly, while they blamed him for being a fine, Frenchified 
gentleman, even while finding no fault with their old friend 
JBerenger, or that notable little, lively, housewifely lady his 
wife, whose broken English and bright simplicity charmed 
every one. Sorely Philip needed something to do; he 
might have been a gentleman pensioner, but he had no 
notion, he said, of loitering after a lady to boat and hunt, 
when such a king as Henry of Navarre was in the field; 
and he agreed with Eustacie in her estimate of the court, 
that it was horribly dull, and wanting in all tjie sparkle 
and brilliancy that even he had perceived at Paris. 

Eustacie gladly retreated to housewifery at Combe 
Walvvyn, but a strenuous endeavor on Lady Thistlewood’s 
part to marry her step-son to a Dorset knight ^s daughter, 
together with the tidings of tlie renewed war in France, 
spurred Philip into wringing permission from his father to 
join the King of Navarre as a volunteer. 

Years went by, and Philip was only heard of in occasional 
letters, accompanied by presents to his sisters and to little 
Payonette, and telling of marches, exploits, and battles — 
how he had taken a standard of the League at Contras, and 
how he had led a charge of pikemen at Ivry, for which he 
received the thanks of Henry lY. But, though so near 
home, he did not set foot on English ground till the throne 
of France was secured to the hero of Navarre, and he had 
marched into Paris in guise very unlike tlie manner he had 
left it. 

Then home he came, a bronzed gallant-looking warrior, 
the pride of the county, ready for repose and for aid to his 


THE CHAPLET OP PEARLS. 


2^5 

father in his hearty old age, and bearing with him a press- 
ing invitation from the king to M. and Mme. de Eibau- 
mont to resume their rank at court. Berenger, who had 
for many years only known himself as Lord W alwyn, shook 
his head. I thank the king,” he said, ‘ ■ but I am better 
content to breed up my children as wholly English. He 
bade me return when he should have stirred the witches 
caldron into clearness. Alas! all he has done is to make 
brilliant colors shine on the vapor thereof. Nay, Phil ; I 
know your ardent love for him, and marvel not at it. Be*- 
fore he joined the Catholic Church I trusted that he might 
have given truth to the one party, and unity to the other; 
but when the clergy accepted him with all his private vices, 
and he surrendered unconditionally, I lost hope. I fear 
there is worse in store. Queen Catherine did her most 
fatal work of evil when she corrupted Henry of Navarre.^’ 
‘ ‘ If you say more. Berry, I shall be ready to challenge 
you!^^ said Philip. “ When you saw him, you little knew 
the true king of souls that he is, his greatness, or his love 
for his country. 

Nay, I believe it; but tell me, Philip, did you not hint 
that you had been among former friends — at Lucon, you 
said, I think?' ^ 

Philip's face changed. ‘‘ Yes; it was for that I wished 
to see you alone. My troop had to occupy the place. I 
had to visit the convent to arrange for quartering my men 
so as least to scandalize the sisters. The abbess came to 
speak to me. I knew her only by her eyes! She is 
changed — aged, wan, thin with their discipline and fasts — 
but she once or twice smiled as she alone in old times could 
smile. The place rings with her devotion, her charity, her 
penances, and truly her face is " — he could hardly speak — 
like that of a saint. She knew me at once, asked for you 
all, and bade me tell you that now she prays for you and 
yours continually, and blesses you for having opened to her 
the way of peace. Ah! Berry, I always told you she had 
not her equal." 

Think you so even now?'' 

‘‘ How should I not, when I have seen what repentance 
has made of her?' ’ 

“So!" said Berenger, rather sorrowfully, “ our great 
Protestant champion has still left his heart behind him in a 
French convent." 


236 


THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 


Stay, Berenger! do you remember yonder villain con- 
jurer^s prediction that I should wed none but a lady whose 
cognizance was the leopard 

“ And you seem bent on accomplishing it,” said Beren- 
ger. 

“ Nay! but in another manner — that which you devised 
on the spur of the moment. Berenger, I knew the sorcerer 
spake sooth when that little moonbeam child of yours 
brought me the flowers from the rampart. I had speech 
with her last night. She has all the fair loveliness that be- 
lotigs of right to your mother’s grandchild, but her eye, 
blue as it is, has the Eibaumont spirit; the turn of the head 
and the smile are what I loved long ago in yonder lady, 
and, above all, she is her own sweet self. Berenger, give 
me your daughter Berengere, and I ask no portion with 
her but the silver bullet. Keep the pearls for your son’s 
heir-loom; all I ask with Bayonette is the’ silver bullet.” 


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ALPHABETICAL LIST. 


902 Abbot, The. Sequel to “ The 
Monastery,” By Sir Walter 


Scott 20 

36 Adam Bede. By George Eliot. 20 
388 Addie’s Husband ; or. Through 
Clouds to Sunshine. By the 
author of “Love or Lands?”. 10 
5 Admiral’s Wai'd, The. By Mrs. 

20 

127 Adrian Bright. By Mrs. Caddy 20 
500 Adrian Vidal. By W. E. Norris 20 
477 Affinities. By Mrs. Campbell 

Praed 10 

413 Afloat and Ashore. By J. Fen- 
imore Cooper 20 

128 Afternoon, and Other Sketches. 

By “Ouida” 10 

603 Agnes. By Mrs. Oliphant. First 

Half 20 

603 Agnes, By Mrs. Oliphant. Sec- 
ond Half 20 

218 Agnes Sorel. By G. P. R. James 20 
14 Airy Fairy Lilian. By “ The 

Duchess” 10 

274 Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, 
Princess of Great Britain and 
Ireland. Biographical Sketch 

and Letters 10 

636 Alice Lorraine. By R. D. Black- 

more. 1st half 20 

636 Alice liOrraine. By R. D, Black- 

more. 2d half 20 

650 Alice; or. The Mysteries. (A Se- 
quel to “ Ernest Maltravers.”) 

By Sir E. Bulwer Lytton 20 

462 Alice’s Adventures in Wonder- 
land. By Lewis Carroll. With 
forty-twoillustrations byJolm 

Tenniel 20 

97 All in a Garden Fair. By Wal- 
ter Besant 20 

484 Although He Was a Lord, and 
Other Tales. Mrs. Forrester. 10 


47 Altiora Peto. By Laurence Oli- 
phant 20 

253 Amazon, The. By Carl Vosmaer 10 
447 American Notes, By Charles 

Dickens 20 

176 An April Day. By Philippa Brit- 
tle Jephson 10 

403 An English Squire. By C. R. 

Coleridge 20 

648 Angel of the Bells, The. By F. 


x/u • 

263 An Ishmaelite. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

154 Annan Water, By Robert Buch- 
anan 20 

200 An Old Man’s Love. By Anthony 

Trollope 10 

93 Anthony Trollope’s Autobiog- 
raphy ■ 20 

395 Archipelago on Fire, The. By 

Jules Verne 10 

532 Arden Court. Barbara Graham 20 
247 Armourer’s Prentices, The. By 

Charlotte M. Yonge 10 

224 Arundel Motto, The. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

347 As Avon Flows. By Henry Scott 

Vince 20 

541 “ As it Fell Upon a Da}'.” By 
“The Duchess,” aud Uncle 

Jack. By Walter Besant 10 

560 Asphodel. By Miss Braddon . . 20 
540 At a High Price. By E. Werner 20 
352 At Any Cost. By Edw. Garrett 10 
564 At Bay. By Mrs. Alexander. . . 10 
528 At His Gates. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 
192 At the World’s Mercy. By F. 

Warden 20 

287 At War With Herself. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 10 

737 Aunt Rachel. By David Christie 
Murray lo 


TEE SEASIDE LI BEADY.— Pocket Edition. 


74 Aurora Floyd, By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

730 Autobioji:raphy of Benjamin 
Franklin, The 10 


328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. 
(Translated from the French 
of Fortiin6 Du Boisgobey.) 

First half 20 

128 Babiole, the Pretty Millineiv 
(Translated from the French 
of Fortuu6 Du Boisgobey.) 

Second half 20 

241 Baby’s Grandmother, The, By 

L, B. Walford 10 

342 Baby, The, and One New Year’s 

Eve. By “ The Duchess ” 10 

611 Babylon. By Cecil Power 20 

443 Bachelor of the Albany, The. .. 10 
683 Bachelor Vicar of Newforth, 
The. By Mrs. J. Harcourt-Roe 20 
65 Back to the Old Home. By 


Mary Cecil Ha}" 10 

551 Barbara Heathcote's Trial. By 

Rosa Nouchette Carey 20 

99 Barbara’s History. By Amelia 

B. Edwards ! 20 

234 Barbara; or. Splendid Misery. 

By Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

91 Barnaby Rudge. By Charles 

Dickens. First half 20 

91 Barnaby Rudge. By Charles 

Dickens. Second half 20 

653 Barren Title, A. T. W. Speight 10 
731 Bayou Bride, The. By Mrs. 

Mary E. Bryan 20 

717 Beau Tancrede; or, the Mar- 
riage Verdict, By Alexander 

Dumas 20 

29 Beauty’s Daughters. By “ The 

Duchess” 10 

86 Belinda. By Rhoda Broughton 20 
593 Berna Boyle. By Mrs. J. H, 
Riddell 20 


581 Betrothed, The. (I Promessi 
Sposi,) Alessandro Manzoni. 20 
620 Between the Heather and the 

Northern Sea. By M. Linskill 20 
466 Between Two Loyes. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme. author of 


“Dora Thorne”. 20 

476 Between Two Sins. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 10 

48;i Betwixt My Love and Me 10 

808 Beyond Pardon 20 

257 Beyond Recall. By Adeline Ser- 
geant 10 

553 Birds of Prey. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

320 Bit of Human Nature, A. By 

David Christie Murray 10 

411 Bitter Atonement, A. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

480 Bitter Reckoning, A. By the au- 
thor of “By (brooked Paths ” 10 


353 Black Dwarf, The, and A Le- 
gend of Montrose. By Sir 

Walter Scott 20 

302 Blatchford Bequest, The. By 
Hugh Conway , author of 

“Called Back” 10 

106 Bleak House. B}' Chai’les Dick- 
ens. First half 20 

106 Bleak House. By Charles Dick- 
ens. Second half 20 

429 Boulderstone ; or. New Men and 
Old Populations. By William 

Sime 10 

394 Bravo, Tlie. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

362 Bride of Lammermoor, The. 

By Sir Walter Scott 20 

259 Bride of Monte-Cristo, The. A 
Sequel to “ The Count of 
Moute-Cristo.” By Alexan- 
der Dumas 10 

642 Britta. By George Temple 10 

54 Broken Wedding-Ring, A. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 20 

317 By Mead and Stream. By Chas. 

Gibbon 20 

58 By the Gate of the Sea. By D. 
Christie Murray 10 


739 Caged Lion, The. By Charlotte 

M. Yonge 20 

240 Called Back. By Hugh Conway 10 
602 Camiola: A Girl With a Fortune. 

By Justin McCarthy 20 

186 Canon’s Ward, The. By James 

Payn 20 

149 Captain’s Daughter, The. From 

the Russian of Pushkin 10 

555 Cara Roma. By Miss Grant 20 

711 Cardinal Sin, A. By Hugh Con- 
way, author of “ Called 

Back ” 30 

502 Carriston’s Gift. By Hugh . 
Conway, author of “Called 

Back” 10 

364 Castle Dangerous. By Sir Wal- 
ter Scott 10 

746 Cavalry Life; or. Sketches and 
Stories in Barracks and Out , 

By J. S. Wintei- '20 

419 Chainbearer, The; or. The Lit- 
tlepage Manuscripts. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

212 Charles O’Malley, the Irish 
Dragoon. By Charles Lever, 

First half 20 

212 Charles O’Malley, the Irish 
Dragoon. By (Charles Lever. 

Second half 20 

554 Charlotte’s Inheritance. (A Se- 
quel to “ Birds of Prey,”) By 

Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

61 Charlotte Temple. By Mrs. 

Rowson 10 

588 Cherry. By the author of “ A. 
Great Mistake” 10 


THE SEASIDE LI B II All Y.— Pocket Edition. 


713 “ Cherry Ripe.” By Helen B. 

Mathers 

719 Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. 

By Lord Byron 

676 Child’s History of England, A. 

By Charles Dickens 

657 Christmas Angel. By B. L. Far- 
jeon 

631 Christowell. By R. D. Blackmore 
507 Chronicles of the Canongate, 

and Other Stories. By Sir 
Walter Scott 

632 Clara Vaughan. By R. D. Black- 

more 

33 Clique of Gold, The. By Emile 

Gaboriau 

499 Cloven Foot, The. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 

493 Colonel Enderby’s Wife. By 

Lucas Malet 

221 Cornin’ Thro’ the Rye. Bj”^ Helen 

B. Mathers 

523 Consequences of a Duel, The. 

By F. Du Boisgobey 

5^17 Coquette’s Conquest, A. By 

Basil 

104 Coral Pin, The. By F. Du Bois- 
gobey. 1st half 

104 Coral Pin, The. Bj- F. Du Bois- 
gobey. 2d half 

598 Coriuna. By “Rita” 

262 Count of Monte-Cristo, The. 

By Alexander Dumas. Part I 
262 Count of Monte-Cristo, The. 

By Alexander Dumas. Part II 
687 Country Gentleman, A. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 

590 Courting of Mary Smith, The. 

By F. W. Robinson 

258 Cou.sins. By L. B. Watford 

649 Cradle and Spade. By William 

Sime 

630 Cradock Nowell. By R. D. 

Blackmore. First half 

630 Cradock Nowell. By R. D. 

' Blackmore. Second half 

108 Cricket on the Hearth, The, 
and Doctor Marigold. By 

Charles Dickens 

376 Crime of Christmas Day, The. 
By the author of “ My Ducats 

and My Daughter ” 

706 Crimson Stain, A. By Annie 

Bradshaw 

629 Cripps, the Carrier. By R. D. 

Blackmore 

501 Curly: An Actor’s Story. By 
John Coleman. Illustrated. 
My Poor W’ife. By the author 

of “ Addie’s Husband ” 

644 Cut by the County; or. Grace 
Darnel. By Miss M. E. Brad- 
don 

446 Dame Durden. By “ Rita ”... 

34 Daniel Deronda. B3^ George 

Eliot. First half 

34 Daniel Deronda. Bj' George 
Eliot. Second half 


Dark Days. By Hugli Conway 10 


Dark House, Tiie : A Knot Un- 
raveled. B3’' G. Manville Fenn 10 
Daughter of Ileth, A. By Will- 
iam Black 20 

Daughter of the Stars, The, and 
Other Tales. By Hugh Con- 
way, author of “ Called 

Back” 10 

David Copperfield. By Charles 

Dickens. Vol. 1 20 

David Copperfield. B}’ Chaides 

Dickens. V’ol. II 20 

Days of My Life. The. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

Dead Heart, A, and Lad v Gwen- 
doline’s Dream. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ” 10 

Dead Man’s Secret, The. By Dr. 

Jupiter Paeon 20 

Dead Men’s Shoes. B3' Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

Deldee; or, The Iron Hand. By 

F. Warden 20 

Diamond Cut Diamond. By T. 

Adolphus Trollope 10 

Diana Carew ; or, For a Wom- 
an's Sak(*. By Mrs. Forrester 20 
Diana of the Crossways. By 

George Meredith 10 

Diavola; or. Nobody’s Daugh- 
ter. By Miss M. E. Braddon. 

Part 1 20 

Diavola; or. Nobody’s Daugh- 
tf?r. By Miss M. E. Braddon. 

Part II 20 

Dick Sand; or, A Captain at 

Fifteen. By .lules Verne 20 

Dick’s Sweetheart. By “ The 

Duchess ” 20 

Dissolving Views. By Mrs. An- 
drew Lang 10 

Dita. By Lady Margaret Ma- 

jendie 10 

Doctor Jacob. By Miss Betham- 

Ed wards 20 

Doctor’s Wife, The. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

Dolores. By Mrs. Forrester. . . 20 
Dombe3" and Son. By Charles 

Dickens. First half 20 

Dombey and Son. By Charles 

Dickens. Second half 20 

Donal Grant. By George Mac- 
Donald 20 

Don Gesualdo. By“Ouida.”.. 10 
Dora Thorne. B3’^ Charlotte M. 

Braeme 20 

Doris. By “ The Duchess ” 10 

Dorotln'^ Forster. By Walter 

Besant 20 

Dorothy’s Venture. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

Dove in the Eagle’s Nest, The. 

By Charlotte M. Yonge. ...... 20 

Drawn Game, A. By Basil 20 

Ducie Diamonds, The. By C. 
Blather wick 10 


301 

20 609 

10 81 

20 251 

10 

20 

22 

10 22 

20 527 

10 305 

20 

20 374 

20 567 

20 286 

20 115 

20 744 

20 350 

10 

478 

20 

20 478 

20 

87 

20 

20 486 

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20 185 

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529 

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721 

107 

10 

107 

10 

282 

20 

671 

51 

10 284 

230 

10 678 

20 665 

20 585 

151 

20 

( 3 ) 


THE SEASIDE LJBRAllT.— Docket Edition. 


649 Dudley Carleon ; or. The Broth- 
er’s Secret, and Georjre Caul- 
field’s Journey. By Miss M. 
E. Braddon 


465 Earl’s Atonement, The. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 

8 East Lynne. By Mrs. Henry 

Wood 

685 England under Gladstone. 1880 
—1885. By Justin H. McCar- 
thy, M.P 

521 Entangled. By E. Fairfax 
Byrrne 

625 Erema; or, My Father’s Sin. 

By R. D. Blackinore 

96 Erling the Bold. By R. M. Bal- 

lantyne 

90 Ernest Maltravers. By Sir E. Bul- 

wer Lytton 

162 Eugene Aram. By Sir E. Bulwer 

Lytton 

470 Etelj'n’s Foil}'. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “Dora 

Thorne ” 

62 Executor, The. By Mrs. Alex- 
ander 

13 Eyre’s Acquittal. By Helen B. 
Mathers 

319 Face to Face : A Fact in Seven 
Fables. By R. E. Francillon. 
538 Fair Country Maid, A. By E. 

Fairfax Byrrne 

261 Fair Maid, A. By F. W. Robin- 
son 

417 Fair Maid of Perth, The; or, 
St. Valentine’s Da}'. By Sir 
Walter Scott, Bart 

626 Fair Mystery, A. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Tiiorne ” 

727 Fair Women. By Mrs. Forre.'^ter 
30 Faith and Unfaith. By “ Tiie 

Duchess ” 

543 Family Affair, A. By Hugh 
Conway, author of “ Called 

338 Family Difiicuity, The. By Sa- 
rah Doudney 

690 Far From the Madding Crowd. 

By Thomas Hardy 

680 Fast and Loose. By Arthur 

Griffiths 

246 Fatal Dower, A. By the Author 
of “ His Wedded Wife ” .... 

299 Fatal Lilies, The, and A Bride 
fioin the Sea. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “Doi-a 

Thorne ” 

548 Fatal Marriage, A, and TIte 
Shadow in the Corner. By 

Miss M. E. Braddon 

693 Felix Holt, the Radical. By 

George Eliot 

542 Fenton’s Quest, By Miss M. E. 
Braddon 


File No. 113. By Emile Gabo- 


riau 20 

Finger of Fate, The. By Cap- 
tain Mayne Reid .. 20 

Fire Brigade, The. By R. M. 

Ballantyne 10 

Fii-st Person Singular. By Da- 
vid Christie Murray 20 

Fisher Village, The. By Anne 

Beale 10 

Flower of Doom, The, and 
Other Stories. By M. Betham- 

Edwards 10 

For Another’s Sin ; or, A Strug- 
gle for Love. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ” 20 

“ For a Dream’s Sake.” By Mrs. 

Herbert Martin 20 

Foreigners, The. By Eleanor C. 

Price 20 

For Her Dear Sake. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

For Himself Alone, By T. W, 

Speight. 10 

For Life and Love. By Alison. 10 
For Lilias. By Rosa Nouchette 

Carey 20 

For Maimie’s Sake, By Grant 

Allen 20 

“ For Percival.” By Margaret 

Veley 20 

Fortune’s Wheel. By “ The 

Duchess” 10 

Fortunes, Good and Bad, of a 
Sewing-Girl, The. By Char- 
lotte M. Stanley 10 

Foul Play. By Charles Reade. 20 
Found Out. By Helen B. 

Mathers 10 

Frank Fairlegh ; or. Scenes 
From the Life of a Private 
Pupil. By Frank E. Smedley 20 

Friendship. By “Ouida” 20 

From Gloom to Sunlight. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of “Dora Thorne” 10^ 

From Olympus to Hades. By 

Mrs. Forrester 20 

From Post to Finish. A Racing 
Romance. By Hawley Smart 20 

Gambler’s Wife, The 20 

George Cliristy; or. The Fort- 
unes of a Minstrel, By Tony 

Pastor 20 

Gerald. By Eleanor C. Price. . 20 
Ghost of Charlotte Cray, The, 
and Other Stories. By Flor- 
ence Marryat 10 

Ghost’s Touch, The, and Percy 
and the Pi'ophet. By Wilkie 

Collins 10 

Giant’s Robe, The. By F. Anstey 20 
Gilded Sin, A, and A Bridge 
of Love. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne” 10 


7 

575 

10 

95 

674 

20 199 

20 579 

I 

20 745 

20 

20 156 

10 173 

20 197 

20 150 

278 

20 608 

20 712 

10 586 

171 

10 

468 

20 

20 216 

438 

20 333 

20 226 

20 288 

20 

732 

20 348 

10 

20 2a5 

365 

20 

10 331 

208 

10 613 

10 225 

300 

20 

20 

(4) 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. -Pocket Edition. 


644 Girton Girl, A. By Mrs. Annie 

Edwards 

140 Glorious Fortune, A. By Wal- 

647 Goblin Gold’. ’ ‘ By ’May' 'Crom- 

melin 

450 Godfrey Helstone. By Georgi- 

ana 5l. Craik 

153 Golden Calf, The. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 

306 Golden Dawn, A, and Love for a 
Day, By Charlotte M. Braeme, 
author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 
656 Golden Flood, The. By R. E. 

Francillon and Wm. Senior. . 
172 ” Golden Girls.” By Alan Muir 
292 Golden Heart, A. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “Dora 

Thorne” 

667 Golden Lion of Granpere, The. 

By Anthony Trollope 

356 Good Hater, A. By Frederick 

Boyle 

710 Greatest Heiress in England, 

The. By Mrs. Oliphant 

439 Great Expectations. By Charles 

Dickens 

135 Great Heiress, A: A Fortune in 
Seven Checks. By R. E. Fran- 

cillon 

244 Great Mistake, A. By the author 

of ” His Wedded Wife ” 

170 Great Treason, A. By Mary 

Hoppus 

138 Green Pastures and Piccadilly. 

By Wm. Black 

231 Griffith Gaunt; or. Jealousy. 

By Charles Reade 

677 Griselda. By the author of ” A 
Woman’s Love-Story ” 


597 Haco the Dreamer. By William 

Sime 

668 Half-Way. An Anglo-French 

Romance 

663 Handy Andy. By Samuel Lover 
84 Hard Times. By Chas. Dickens 
622 Hari-y Heathcote of Gangoil. By 

Anthony Trollope 

191 Harry Lorrequer. By Charles 

Lever 

569 Harry Muir. By Mrs. Oliphant 
169 Haunted Man, The. By Charles 

Dickens 

5.33 Hazel Kirke. By Marie Walsh 
385 Headsman, The; or, The Ab- 
baye des Vignerons. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 

572 Heale}'. By Jessie Fothergill. 
167 Heart and Science. By Wilkie 

Collins 

441 Heart of Jane Warner, The. By 

Florence Marryat 

S91 Heart of Mid-Lothian, The. By 

Sir Walter Scott 

695 Hearts: (^leen, Knave, and 
Deuce. By David Christie 
Murray 


Heiress of Hilldrop, The; or. 
The Romance of a Young 


Girl. By Charlotte M. Bi aeme, 
author of ” Dora Thorne ”... 20 
Heir Presumptive, The. By 

Florence Marryat 20 

Helen Whitney’s Wedding, and 
Other Tales. By Mrs. Henry 

Wood 10 

Henrietta’s Wish; or, Domi- 
neering. By Charlotte M. 

Yonge 10 

Her Gentle Deeds. By Sarah 

Tytler lO 

Her Martyrdom. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of ” Dora 

Thorne ” 20 

Her Mother’s Sin. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of ” Dora 

Thorne” 10 

Hidden Perils. Mary Cecil Hay 10 

Hidden Sin, The. A Novel 20 

Hilary’s Folly. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “Dora 

Thorne” 10 

Hilda. By Charlotte M.Braeme, 
author of ” Dora Thorne ”... 10 
History of a Week, The. By 

Mrs. L. B. Walford 10 

History of Hemy Esmond, The. 

By William M. Thackeray .. . 20 
His Wedded Wife. By author 
of ” Ladybird’s Penitence ” . . 20 
Homeward Bound; or. The 

Chase. By J. F. Cooper 20 

Home as Found. (Sequel to 
Homeward Bound.”) ByJ. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

Hostages to Fortune. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

Houp-La. By John Strange 

Winter. (Illustrated) 10 

Hurrish: A Study. By the 

Hon. Emily Lawless 20 

House Divided Against Itself, 

A. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

House on the Marsh, The. By 

F. Warden lo 

House on the Moor, The. By 

Mrs. Oliphant 20 

House That Jack Built, The. 

By Alison lo 

Husband’s Story, A lO 

Ichabod. A Portrait. By Bertha 

Thomas lo 

Idonea. By Anne Beale 20 

I Have Lived and Loved. By 

Mrs. Forrester 20 

Ingledew House, and More Bit- 
ter than Death. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ” lo 

In Cupid’s Net. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne”.; lo 

In Durance Vile. By “ Tlie 
Duchess ” 10 


741 

20 

10 

689 

10 

513 

20 

20 535 

10 160 

10 576 

20 

19 

10 

20 196 

518 

20 297 

20 

294 

20 

658 

10 165 

20 461 

30 378 

20 379 

20 

552 

20 

600 

748 

10 

703 

20 

20 248 

10 

351 

10 

481 

20 

20 198 

10 

20 389 

188 

20 715 

20 

303 

20 

20 

304 

20 

404 

20 1 

( 6 ) 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY,— Pocket Edition, 


324 lu Luck at Last. By Walter 

Besant 

672 In Maremma. By “ Ouida.” 1st 

half 

672 In Slaremma. By “ Ouida.” 2d 

half 

604 Innocent: A Tale of Modern 
Life. By Mrs. Oliphant. First 

Half 

604 Innocent: A Tale of Modern 
Life. Bv Mrs. Oliphant. Sec- 
ond Half 

577 In Peril and Privation. By 

James Payn 

frlS In Quarters with the 25th (The 
Black Horse) Dragoons. By 

J. S. Winter .• 

759 In Shallow Waters. By Annie 

Armitt 

39 In Silk Attire. By William Black 
738 In the Golden Days. By Edna 

Lyall 

682 In the Middle Watch. By W. 

Clark Russell 

4.52 In the West Countrie. By May 

Crommelin 

383 Introduced to Society. By Ham- 
ilton Aid6 

122 lone Stewart. By Mrs. E. Lynn 

Linton 

233 “ I Say No or, The Love-Let- 
ter Answered. By Wilkie Col- 
lins 

2.35 “ It is Never Too Late to Mend.” 

By Charles Reade 

28 Ivanhoe. By Sir Walter Scott. 


534 Jack. By Alphonse Daudet 

416 Jack Tier ; or, The Florida Reef. 

By J. Fenirnore Cooper, 

743 Jack’s Courtship. By W. Clark 

Russell. 1st half 

743 Jack’s Courtship. By W. Clark 

Russell. 2d half 

.519 James Gordon’s Wife, A Novel 
15 Jane Eyre. By Charlotte Bront6 
728 Janet’s Repentance. By George 

Eliot 

142 .Jenifer. By Annie Thomas — 

;357 John. By Mrs. Oliphant 

203 John Bull and His Island. By 

Max O’Rell 

289 John Bull’s Neighbor in Her 
True Light. By a “Brutal 

Saxon ” 

11 John Halifax, Gentleman. By 

Miss Mulock 

209 John Holdsworth, Chief Mate. 

By W. Clark Russell 

694 John Maidmeut. By Julian 

Sturgis 

.570 John Marchmont’s Legacy. By 

Miss M. E. Braddon 

488 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter. 

By Miss M. E. Braddon 

619 Joy; or. The Light of Cold- 
Home Ford. By May Crom- 
melin 


Judith Shakespeare :*Her Love 
Affairs and Other Advent- 


ures. By William Black 20 

Judith Wynne 20 

June. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

Just As I Am. By Miss M. E. 
Braddon 20 


Kilmeny. By William Black.. 20 
Klytia : A Story of Heidelberg 
Castle. By George Taylor. .. 20 


Lady Branksmere. By “The 

Duchess” 20 

Lady Audley’s Secret. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

Lady Clare ; or. The Master of 
the Forges. From the French 

of Georges Ohnet 10 

Lady Darner’s Secret. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 20 

Lady Gay’s Pride; or. The Mi- 
ser’s Treasure. By Mrs. Alex. 

McVeigh Miller 20 

Lady Lovelace. By the author 

of “Judith Wynne” 20 

Lady Muriel’s Secret. By Jean 

Middlemas 20 

Lady of Lyons, The. Founded 
on the Play of that title by 

Lord Ly tton 10 

Lady’s Mile, The. By Miss M, 

E. Braddon 20 

Lady With the Rubies, The. By 

E. Marlitt 20 

Lancaster’s Choice. By Mrs. 

Alex. McVeigh Miller 20 

LancelotWard,M.P. By George 

Temple 10 

Land Leaguers, The. By An- 
thony Trollope 20 

Last Days at Apswich 10 

Last Days of Pompeii, The. By 
Buhver Lytton 20 


Last of the Barons, The, By Sir 
E. Bulwer Lj'tton. 1st half. . 20 
Last of the Barons, The. By Sir 


E. Bulwer Lytton. 2d half.. 20 
Last of the Mohicans, The. By 

J. Fenirnore Cooper 20 

Laurel Vane; or. The Girls’ 
Conspiracy. By Mrs. Alex. 

McVeigh Miller 20 

Lazarus in London. By F. W. 

Robinson 20 

Led Astray ; or, “ La Petite 
Comtesse.” Octave Feuillet. 10 
Leila ; or, The Siege of Grenada. 

By Bulwer Lytton 10 

Lester’s Secret. By Mary Cecil 

Hay 20 

Lewis Arundel; or. The Rail- 
road of Life. By Frank E. 

Smedley 20 

Life and Adventures of Martin 
Chuzzlewit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. First half 20 


265 

10 

20 332 

80 

20 561 

^ 126 

435 

20 

10 733 

35 

10 

219 

20 

20 

469 

20 

20 268 

20 

506 

10 

155 

20 

161 

20 

497 

20 

20 652 

269 

20 

599 

20 

32 

20 

684 

20 40 

20 

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10 130 

20 

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10 267 

10 455 

20 386 

10 164 

20 408 

20 562 

20 

437 

20 

( 6 ) 


THE SEASIDE LIBU ART.— Pocket Edition. 


437 Life anfl Adventures of Martin 
CliuKzlewit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. Second half 

698 Life’s Atonement, A. By David 

Christie Murray 

617 Like Dian’s Kiss. By “ Rita ”. 
402 Lilliesleaf : or, Passages in the 
Life of Mrs. Margaret Mait- 
land of Suunyside. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 

397 Lionel Lincoln ; or. The Leaguer 
of Boston. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 

94 Little Dorrit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. First half 

94 Little Dorrit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. Second half 

279 Little Goldie : A Story of AVom- 
au’s Love. By Mrs. Sumner 

Hayden 

109 Little Lo®. By W. Clark Russell 
179 Little Make-Believe. By B. L. 

Farjeon 

45 Little Pilgrim, A. By Mrs. Oli- 
phant 

272 Little Savage, The. By Captain 

Marryat 

Ill Little School-master Mark, The. 

By J. H. Shorthouse 

92 Lord Lynne’s Choice. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne’’ 

749 Lord Vanecourt’s Daughter. By 

Mabel Collins 

67 Lerna Doone. By R. D. Black- 

more. First half 

67 Lorna Doone. By R. D. Black- 
more. Second half 

473 Lost Son, A, By Mary Linskill. 
354 Lottery of Life, The. A Story 
of I^e^v York Twenty Years 
Ago. By John Brougham . . 
•453 Lottery Ticket, The. By F. Du 

Boisgobey 

•479 Louisa. By Katharine S. Mac- 

quoid 

742 Love and Life. By Charlotte 
M. Yonge 

273 Love and Mirage; or. The Wait- 

ing on an Island. By M. 

Betham-Ed wards 

232 Love and Money; or, A Peril- 
ous Secret. By Chas. Reade. 
146 Love Finds the Way, and Other 
Stories. By AValter Besant 

and James Rice., 

313 Lover’s Creed, The. By Mrs. 

Cashel Hoey 

673 Love’s Harvest. B. L. Farjeon 
175 Love’s Random Shot. By Wilkie 

Collins. 

757 Love’s Martyr. By Laurence 

Alma Tadema 

391 Love’s Warfare. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ” 

118 Loys, Lord Berresford. and Eric 
Dering. By “ The Duchess ” 


Lucia, Hugh and Another. B.y 


Mrs. J. H. Needell 20 

Luck of the Darrells, The. By 

James Pay n 20 

Lucy Croftou. By Mrs. Oliphant 10 

Macleod of Dare. By AVilliam 

Black 30 

Madame De Presnel. By E. 

Frances Poynter 20 

Madam. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

Madcap Violet. By AVm. Black 20 
Mad Love, A. By the author of 

“Lover and Lord” 10 

Madolin’s Lover. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne” 20 

Madolin Rivers; or. The Little 
Beauty of Red Oak Seminary. 

B}’^ Laura Jean Libbey 20 

Magdalen Hepburn : A Story of 
the Scottish Reformation. By 

Mrs. Oliphant 20 

Maiden All Forlorn, A, and Bar- 
bara. By “ The Duchess ”... 10 
Maiden Fair, A. Charles Gibbon 10 
Maid of Athens. By Justin 

McCarthy 20 

Maid of Sker, The. By R D. 

Blackmore. 1st half 20 

Maid of Sker, The. By R. D. 

Blackmore. 2d half 20 

Maid, AVife, or Widow? By 

Mrs. Alexander 10 

Man and AVife. By AVilkie Col- 
lins. First half 20 

Man and AVife. By AATlkie Col- 
lins. Second half 20 

Man of Honor, A. By John 
Strange Winter. Illustrated. 10 
Man She Cared For, The. By 

F. AV. Robinson 20 

Margaret Maitland. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

Market Harborough, and Inside 
the Bar. G. J. AA’^hyte-Melville 20 
Marriage of Convenience, A. 

By Harriett Jay 10 

Married in Haste. Edited by 

Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

Mary Anerley. By R. D. Black- 

more 20 

Master Humphrey’s Clock. By 

Charles Dickens 10 

Master of the Mine, The. By 
Robert Buchanan... 20 


Mathias Sandorf. By Jules 

Verne. (Illustrated.) Parti. 10 
Mathias Sandorf. I3y Jules 

Verne. (Illustrated.) Part II 10 
Mathias Sandorf. By Jules 

Verne. (Illustrated.) Part III 10 
Matt; A Tale of a Caravan. 


By Robert Buchanan 10 

Mauleverer’s Millions. By T. 
AVemyss Reid 30 


May Blossom ; or, Betwe«»u Two 
Loves. By Margaret Lee 90 


582 

20 589 

20 370 

20 

44 

20 526 

345 

20 78 

510 

20 

69 

20 

341 

20 

20 

10 

10 449 

10 64 

121 

m 

10 633 

20 229 

20 702 

20 702 

16 688 

20 

20 ''' 

20 

20 

480 

16 615 

16 132 

10 

20 

20 578 

10 578 

10 398 

723 

10 

330 

10 


TEE SEASIDE LlBBAnY.- Pocket Edition 


137 Memoirs and Resolutions of 
Adam Graeme of Blossfjray, 
including: some Chronicles of 
the Borough of Fendie. By 

Mrs. Oliphant 

424 Mercedes of Castile; or, Tne 
Voyage to Cathay. Bj' J. Feu- 

imore Cooper 

406 Merchant's Clerk, The. By Sam- 
uel Warren 

31 Middlemarch. By George Eliot. 

First half 

31 Middlemarch. By George Eliot. 

Second half 

187 Midnight Sun, The. ByFredrika 

Bremer 

729 Mignon. By Mrs. Forrester... 
492 Mignon ; or, Booties’ Baby. By 

J. S. Winter 

692 Mikado, The. and other Comic 
Operas. Written by W. S. 
Gilbert. Composed by Arthur 

Sullivan 

390 Mildred Trevanion. By “The 

Duchess ” 

414 Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to 
“ Aflaat and Ashore.’’) By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 

3 Mill on the Floss, The. By 

George Eliot 

157 Milly ’s Hero. By F. W. Robinson 

182 Millionaire. The 

205 Minister’s Wife, The. By Mrs.' 

Oliphant 

399 Miss Brown. By Vernon Lee. . 
369 Miss Bretherton. By Mrs. Hum- 
phry Ward 

245 Miss Tommy. By Miss Mulock 
315 Mistletoe Bough, The. Edited 

by Miss M. E. Braddon 

618 Mistletoe Bough, The. Christ- 
mas, 1885. Edited by Bliss M. 

E. Braddon 

298 Blitchelhurst Place. By Blarga- 

ret Veley 

684 Blixed Motives 

2 Blolly Bawn. By “ The Duch- 
ess ’’ 

159 Bloment of Madness, A, and 
Other Stories. By Florence 

Blarryat 

125 Monarch of Blincing Lane, The. 

By William Black 

201 Blonastery, The. By Sir Walter 

Scott .•••.••• 

119 Monica, and A Rose Distill’d. 

By “The Duchess’’ 

431 Monikins. The. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. By Emile 

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ray 20 

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ess ’’ 20 

BIrs. Hollyer. By Georgiana BI. 

Craik 20 

BIrs. Keith’s Crime 10 

BIrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings. By 

Charles Dickens 10' 

BIr. Smith : A Part of His Life. 
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Collins 10 

Bly Lord and Bly Lady. By 

BIrs. Foi-rester 20 

Bly Sister Kate. By Charlotte 
BI. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne,’’ and A Rainy June. 

By “ Ouida ’’ 10 

Blysteries of Paris, The. By Eu- 
gene Sue. Part I... -r 20 

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gene Sue. Part II .' 20 

Blysterious Hunter, The; or. 
The Blan of Death. Bj’^ Capt. 

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Blystery of Allan Grale, The. By 

Isabella Fyvie Mayo 20 

BI}’stery of Edwin Drood, The. 

By Chas. Dickens .... 20 

Blystery of Jessy Page, The, 
and Other Tales. By BIrs. 

Henry Wood 10 

Blystery of Orcival, The. By 

Emile Gaboriau 20 

Blystery, The. By BIrs. Henry 

Wood 20 

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By Silvio Pellico 10 

Bly Wife’s Niece. By the author 
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plionse Daiidet 20 

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116 

495 

501 

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113 

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440 

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339 

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TEE 8EA8TEE LlBUAliY.^-Poclcei Edition. 


509 Nell Haffeuden. By Tighe Hop- 
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181 New Abelard, The. By Robert 

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464 Newconies, The. B 3 '^ William 
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464 Newcomes, The. By William 

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52 New Magdalen, The. By Wilkie 

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565 No Medium. By Annie Thomas 
614 No. 99. By Arthur Griffiths... 
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Cecil Hay 

595 North Country Maid, A. By 

Mrs, H. Lovett Cameron 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Dickens 

and Collins 

215 Not Like Other Girls. By Rosa 

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640 Nuttie’s Father. By Charlotte 
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425 Oak-Openings, The; or, The 
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Cooper 

211 Octoroon, The 

183 Old Contrairy, and Other Sto- 
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10 Old Curiosity Shop, The. By 

Charles Dickens 

410 Old La^' Mary. By Mrs. Oli- 

phant '. 

72 Old Myddelton’s Money. By 

Mary Cecil Hay 

41 Oliver Twist. By Chas. Dickens 

505 Ombra. By Mrs. Olmhant 

280 Omnia Vanitas. A Tale of So- 
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496 Only a Woman. Edited by Miss 

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6.39 Othmar. By “Ouida” 

131 Our Mutual Friend. By Charles 

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747 Our Sensation Novel. Edited 
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Pirate, The. By Sir AValter Scott 20 
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530 

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517 

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422 

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697 

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697 

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Romance of a Poor Y oung Man, 

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Russians at the Gates of Herat, 
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580 

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361 

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421 

20 

20 

127 

10 

10 

237 

20 

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10 

66 

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409 

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420 

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660 

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699 

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490 Second Life, A. By Mrs. Alex- 

101 Second Thoughts. By Rhoda 

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387 Secret of the Cliffs, The. By 

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607 Self-Doomed. By B. L. Far jeon 
651 “ Self or Bearer.” By Walter 

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474 Serapis. An Historical Novel. 

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524 

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71 

10 

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20 

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123 

20 

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20 

20 550 

117 

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77 

10 

343 

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213 

20 

20 696 

10 49 

20 136 

20 

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275 Three Brides, The. By Char- 
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124 Three Feathers. B3’- Win. Black 
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382 Three Sisters. Bi’ Elsa D’Es- 

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485 Tinted Vapours. B3' J. Maclaren 

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503 Tinted Venus, The. By F. Anstey 
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4 

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508 

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20 

482 

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189 

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20 

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10 46 

20 .59 

20 

345 

on 

20 204 

10 

20 659 

20 9 

20 270 

270 

20 

621 

10 266 

10 512 

112 

20 

359 

‘>n 

20 401 

195 

10 415 

20 344 

20 

312 

10 

458 

20 

79 

10 

10 628 

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400 Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish, The. 

By J. Feniinore Cooper ... 20 
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220 Which Loved Him Best? By 
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17 to 27 Vandewater St. and 45 to 63 Rose St., N, Y 

P O. Box 3751. 

I When ordering by mail please order by numbers.'] 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.-Pocket Edition. 


LATEST ISSUES: 


20 

20 

20 


20 

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NO. PRICK. 

669 Pole on Whist ^ 

732 From Olympus to Hades. By. 

Mrs. Forrester 20 

733 Lady Brauksmere, By “The 

Duchess” 20 

734 Viva. By- Mrs. Forrester ^ 

735 Until the Day Breaks. By 

Emily Spender 20 

736 Roy and Viola. Mrs. Forrester 20 

737 Aunt Rachel. By David Christie 

Murray 10 

738 In the Golden Days. By Edna 

Lyall 

739 The Caged Lion. By Charlotte 

M. Yonge 

740 Rhona. By Mrs. Forrester 

741 The Heiress of Hilldrop; or. 

The Romance of a Young 
Girl. By Charlotte M. Braeme, 
author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 

742 Love and Life. By Charlotte 

M. Ymige 

743 Jack’s Courtship. By W. Clark 

Russell. 1st half 20 

743 Jack’s Courtship. By W. Clark 

Russell. 2d half 20 

744 Diana Carew; or, For a Wom- 

an’s Sake. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

745 For Another’s Sin ; or, A Strug- 

gle for Love. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 20 

746 Cavalry Life: or. Sketches and 

Stories in Barracks and Out. 
ByJ. S. Winter 20 

747 Our Sensation Novel. Edited 

by Justin H. McCarthy, M.P.. 10 

748 Hurrish : A Study. By the 

Hon. Emily Lawless 20 

749 Lord Vanecourt’s Daughter. By 

Mabel Collins 20 

750 An Old Story of My Farming 

Days. By Fritz Reuter. First 

half • 

750 An Old Story of My Farming 
Days. By Fritz Reuter. Second 
half 20 

752 Jackanapes, and Other Stories. 

By Juliana Horatia Ewing. . 10 

753 King Solomon’s Mines. By H. 

Rider Haggard 20 

754 How to be Happy Though Mar- 

ried. By a Graduate in the 
University of Matrimony 20 

755 Margery Daw. A Novel 20 

756 The Strange Adventuresof Cap- 

tain Dangerous. A Narrative 
in Plain English. Attempted 
by George Augustus Sala — 


20 


20 


20 

20 


NO. PRICE. 

757 Love’s Martyr. By Laurence 

Alma Tadema 10 

758 “Good-bye, Sweetheart 1” By 

Rhoda Broughton 20 

759 In Shallow Waters. By Annie 

Armitt 20 

760 Aurelian; or, Rome in the Third 

Century. By William Ware. 

761 Will Weatherhelm. By Wm. 

H. G. Kingston 

762 Impressions of Theophrastus 

Such. By George Eliot 10 

763 The Midshipman, Marmaduke 

Mer^. By Wm. H. G. Kingston 20 

764 The Evil Genius. By Wilkie 

Collins... 20 

765 Not W’isely, But Too SVell. By 

Rhoda Broughton 20 

766 No. XIII; or, the Story of the 

Lost Vestal. By Emma Mar- 
shall 10 

767 .Joan. By Rhoda Broughton .. . 20 

768 Red as a Rose is She. By Rhoda 

Broughton 20 

769 Cometh Up as a Flower. By 

Rhoda Broughton 20 

770 The Castle of Otranto. By 

Horace Walpole 10 

771 A Mental Struggle. By “ The 

Duchess ” 20 

772 Gascoyne, the Sandal Wood 

Trader. By R. M. Ballantyne 20 

773 The Mark of Cain. By Andrew 

Lang 10 

774 The Life and Travels of Mungo 

Pgj.Jf JQ 

775 The Three cierks. By Anthony 

Trollope 20 

776 P6re Goriot. By H. De Balzac. 20 

778 Society’s Verdict. BytheAuthor 

of “ My Marriage ” 20 

779 Doom! An Atlantic Episode. 

By Justin H. McCarthy, M.P. 10 

780 Rare Pale Margaret. By author 

of “ What’s His Offence?”. . . . 20 

781 The Secret Dispatch. By James 

Grant 10 

785 The Haunted Chamber. By 

“ The Duchess ” 10 

787 Court Roj^al. A Story of Cross 
Currents. By S. Baring-Gould 20 
790 The Chaplet of Pearls ; or. The 
AVhite and Black Ribaumont. 
Charlotte M. Yonge. 1st half 20 
790 The Chaplet of Pearls ; or. The 
White and Black Ribaumont. 
Charlotte M. Yonge. 2d half 20 


The foregoing works, contained in The Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, 
are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage free, on 
receipt of price. Parties ordering by mail will please order by numbers. Ad- 
(ir0ss 

CIEORGE MIINKO, 


0I|INK<»’S 

P. O. Box :3751. 

The Chaplet of Pearls.— 2d half. 


PUBLISHING fIBUSE, 

17 to 27 Vandewater Street, N. Y. 


NEW TABERNACLE SERMONS 

BT 

PV. T. DeWITT TALMjlGE, D.D. 


Handsomely Bound in ClotL 12mo. Price $1,001 


The latest of Dr. Talmagb's sermons have not yet been pre- 
iented in book form. They have appeared weekly in The Nim 
7okk Fireside Companion, and are now 

PnbMed for the First Time in Booh Form, 

THE PRICE OP WHICH IS WITHIN THE BEACH OP ALU 

Eacli Yolie vlU CoEtaiii TitY Seiois, 

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▲ND WILL ICAKB 

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Address 

GEOEaS MUNEO, Publisher. 




17 to 1|7 Vandewater Street. New Yociifc^ 


JUST ISSUED. 


JUST ISSUED 


JOLIET CORSON’S 

NEW FAMILY COOK BOOK. 

BY MISS JULIET CORSON, 

Author of “ Meals for the Million,” etc., etc. 
Superintendent op the New York School of Cookery. 


FBICE: HANESOIIELT BOUND IN CLOTH, $1.00. 

A COfflPREHEHSIYE COOK BOOK 

For Family Use in City and Country. 

CONTAINING 

PKAOTICAL EECIPES AND FULL AND PLAIN DIREC- 
TIONS FOR COOKING ALL DISHES USED 
IN AMERICAN HOUSEHOLDS. 

The Best nnd Most Economical Methods of Cookins: Meats, Fish, 
Veg^ctables, Sauces, Salads, Puddings and Pies. 

How to Prepare Relishes and Savory Accessories, Pickcd-up Dishes, 
Soups, Seasoning, StuUing and Stews. 

How to Make Good Bread, Biscuit, Omelets, Jellies, Jams, Pan- 
cakes, Fritters and Fillets. 


Miss Corson is the best American writer on cooking. All of her recipes 
have been carefully tested in the New York School of Cookery. If her direc- 
tions are carefully followed there will be no failures and no reason for com- 
plaint. Her directions are always plain, very complete, and easily followed. 

Juliet Corson’s Hew Family Cook Book 

Is sold by all newsdealers. It will be sent, postpaid, on receipt of price: 
handsomely bound in cloth, $1.00. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, 

Munro’s Publishing House, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to S7 Vandewater St., N. Y, 


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BOOK OF THE TOILE’l 

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A 17 D INCEBASB OF HFAL 7 H AM) KBAm 

IT CONTAINS ITJLL DIRECTIONS FOR ALL THE 

ARTS AND MYSTERIES OF PERSONAL DECORATION, 

AND FOB 

Increasing the Natural Graces of Form and Expression. 

ALL THE LITITE AFUCCTIONS OF THE 

Slszin, IKCair, E3res and. Bod-^J^ 

THAT DETRACT ITIOM APPEARANCE AND HAPPINESS 

Are ICadd the Subjects of Precise and Excellent Becipes- 

Ladies Are Instructed How to Reduce Their WeigK 

VLlthouK Injury to Health and Without Producing 
Pallor and Weakness. 

JNOTHmO NlJiCIISSAxlY TO 

A COMPLETE TOILET BOOK OF RECIPES 

AND 

VAttfABLS ASVIOB Kmi ISS'Om&Tm 

aas BEEN OVERLOOKED IN THE COMPILATION OF THIS VOLoMc. 

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prepaid, by tlie p iblisher. Addrees 

OEOKOE MUNRO, Muiira’s Publishing House, 

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OTHMAR. 

By “ OUIDA.” 

Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, No. 639. 

pieici: so 


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«n receipt of price, 20 cents. Address 

GEORGE MtJNRO, Munro’s Publishing Honse» 

P. O. BOX876L 17 to S7' Yandewater Street, N. Y. 


WW EEADY— Beautifully Bound in Cloth— PRICE 50 CENTS. 


A NEW PEOPLE’S EDITION 

or THAT MOST DELIGHTFUL OF CHILDREN’S STORIES, 

Alice’s Atatures in Wonderland. 

By LEWIS CARROLL, 

Author of Through the Looking-Glass,” etc. 

With Forty-two Beautiful Illustrations hy John Tenniel. 

The most delicious and taking nonsense for children ever written. A 
book to be read by all mothers to their little ones. It makes them dance 
with delight. Everybody enjoys the fun of this charming writer for the 
nursery. 

THIS NEW PEOPLE’S EDITION, BOUND IN CLOTH, PRICE 60 CENTS^ 
IS PRINTED IN LARGE, HANDSOME, READABLE TYPE 
WITH ALL THE ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS 
OF THE EXPENSIVE ENGLISH EDITION. 


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Addrese GEORGE MUNRO, ItIunro*s Pablfsliing House, 

0> B,jx 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York. 



PEARS’ SOAP IMPROVES THE COM- 
FLEXION, IS UNRIVALED AS A PURE DE- 
LIGHTFUL TOILET SOAP, AND IS FOR SALE 
THROUGHOUT THE CIVILIZED WORLD 


The Hew York Fashion Bazar. 

THE BEST AXEEICAN HOKE KAaAZINE. 

Price Cents per Copy. Subscription Price S3.00 per Year. 


Among its regular contributors are Mary Cecil Hay, “ The Duchess,” 
author of ” Molly Bawn,” Lucy Randall Comfort, Charlotte M. Braemr, 
author of “Dora Thorne,” Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller, Mary E. Bryan, 
author of “ Manch,” and Florence A. Warden, author of “ The House on the 
Marsh.” 


COMMENTS O 

The New York Fashion Bazar aims 
to give full information of what ladies 
and children should wear, and, from 
the space devoted to the matter, both 
pictorially and descriptively, we would 
suppose it succeeds. There is also a 
considerable amount of miscellaneous 
reading matter, especially of fiction. 
(Publisned by George Munro, New 
York City. $3.00 a year.) — United 
Presbyterian. 

The New York Fashion Bazar for 
this month, George Munro, publisher, 
is on our table, and an interesting 
number it is to the women of the land 
who have their spring costumes to 
make up. This magazine is standard 
and the best authority on matters of 
fashion.— Rapfisf Reflector. 

The current number of The New 
York Fashion Bazar, published by 
George Munro, New York, is an illus- 
trated library, as it were, of fashions 
in every branch of human wear. The 
figures, forms, and fittings are almost 
bewildering even to those who possess 
a quick eye to the subject that is so 
widely fascinating. The colored first 
page of the cover is too attractive to 
such people to be resisted. The Fash- 
ion Colored Supplement forms the 
frontispiece to the present number. — 
New England Journal of Agriculture. 

We have received the last number of 
The New York Fashion Bazar, pub- 
lished by George Munro, New York 
City, the yearly subscription of which 
is only $3. Each number has a large 
colored fashion supplement, contain- 
ing New York and Paris fashions, and 
the book is full of illustrations of every 
conceivable article of ladies’ attire and 
descriptions how to make the same, 
besides serial stories and sketches and 
much miscellaneous matter.— Jfatne 
Farmer. 

The New York Fashion Bazar is f 
per copy. Subscription price $3.00 pei 


? THE PRESS: 

W E have received the last number of 
The New York Fashion Bazar, and at 
a hasty glance we see it is an interest- 
ing magazine. Its fashions are useful 
to those ladies who do their own dress- 
making, or even decide how they shall 
be made, and its stories are fascinat- 
ing. What more can we say? Address 
George Munro, 17 Vandewater Street, 
N. Y. — Worcester [Mass.] Chronicle. 

The New York Fashion Bazar, pub- 
lished by George Munro, is full of fash- 
ions and reading. It seems to be very 
full, and to be well adapted to the end 
sought. The yearly subscription is 
$3.00, or 25 cents a number. It is very 
large, containing seventy-four pages, 
large size.— Wilmington Morning 
Star. 

The New York Fashion Bazar con- 
tains an attractive variety of literary 
entertainments, stories, poems, sketch- 
es. etc., in addition to the display of 
ladies’ fashions which are its chief 
study. These are set forth with an 
array of pictures and descriptions 
which should leave nothing to doubt 
regarding the newest styles. The se- 
lection of embroidery patterns offers a 
tempting choice for artistic tastes. 
New York: George Munro. — Home 
Journal. 

The New York Fashion Bazar, with 
supplement, is one of the most inter- 
esting and ornamental periodicals that 
have reached the Herald office. It is 
issued by the publisher of the Fireside 
Companion and Seaside Library . — 
Chicago Herald. 

The New York Fashion Bazar, pub- 
lished by George Munro, for this month, 
is a marvel of beauty and excellence. 
It is full of entertaining reading, and 
of the newest and most fashionable 
patterns and designs. It must be seen 
to be appreciated.— C/iwrc/i Press. 

r sale by all newsdealers, price 25 cents 
year. Address 


GEORGE MUNRO« Munro’s Publishing House, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, N. Y. 


THE CELEBRAT ED 

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GEAND, SQUARE AND UPRIGHT PIANOS. 


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